


To the East and Away

by Fiddlehoo



Series: Stingue Based on Prompts [2]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Jealousy, M/M, Threesome, Unprotected Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiddlehoo/pseuds/Fiddlehoo
Summary: Prompt: Victorian England
Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Yukino Aguria/Sting Eucliffe
Series: Stingue Based on Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666129
Kudos: 3





	To the East and Away

**Author's Note:**

> I kept the dialogue true to the era this time.
> 
> Please note I'm in the process of cleaning up this series. I'm going to cut down this chapter into multiple chapters and then fix that weird indent. Thank you for understanding!

Across the grand carpet of the foyer, Mr Eucliffe treaded back and forth. He'd already done all of his favourite things to do: read a few more chapters of his current novel, walk the hills of his estate, and serenade his lovely wife. He'd already entertained many of his most respectable friends: They'd enjoyed tea together and had discussed poetry and politics, they'd listened to each other play piano, and caught one another up on the latest gossip and fashion. There was nothing more to do, but the sun was still up. What would he do with himself? What would he do the day to follow? And the day following that?

Indeed, it seemed Mr Eucliffe had lost his sense of spontaneity. He'd always been known to be the embodiment of satisfaction, someone who always knew how to spend one's time, who thought of new and exciting undertakings. It seemed almost as though Mr Eucliffe had lost his gift.

He stopped at the wall, lost in a state of slight horror.

If he was to regain his old way of living, he was going to need a bit of inspiration. Could he journey his estate? Of course not, he'd memorised every blade of grass his back gardens had to offer…

His lovely wife came into the entry. "Sting, darling."

"Yukino," he turned round to greet her. "How are you this evening?"

"Oh, I'm quite well, thank you. Did you enjoy seeing everyone again?"

"Very much. I always do."

Yukino kept her hands nears her stomach, playing with her fingers as a charming aspect of her character. "How shall you occupy the rest of your day?"

"Well, if I'm heading for London tomorrow, I should think I shall retire."

"Oh, yes, of course." She gave a flushed smile. "I must have forgotten. When shall you be back?"

"I should think my business shouldn't take longer than a day, my dear. I'll return by tomorrow night."

"How early does your train leave?"

"Do not fret, my Yukino, I shall wake you if you're still asleep by my departure."

"And why have you refused to bring Lector along?"

"It's not that I refuse to bring him, rather I refuse to leave you unaccompanied. What would you do with yourself all alone? I struggle to entertain myself with two other people living in this house."

"Oh," she teased, "You and I are very different, aren't we?"

Mr Eucliffe made a wide smile, rubbing their noses together as their giggles filled the foyer.

"Master, Sting!" The little exceed ran down the stairs after him, "Were you going to leave without saying goodbye to me?"

The man turned round with one arm in his jacket, a valet helping him. "I've said goodbye to you, you were sleeping."

"I can't hear you if I'm sleeping! Have you said goodbye to Yukino while she was sleeping?"

"No, she's awake. I made sure of that."

"Well, goodbye, Master Sting. I wish you a safe travel."

"Thank you, Lector. Take care of Yukino while I'm gone. I shall be thinking of you both."

"Goodbye." Lector waved as his friend went out the door.

Mr Eucliffe sat on the train, bound to his business call in London. Once they'd finished he'd return home to his steadily-becoming-less-exciting life. It all sounded rather dull, and he compared the idea to a dead-end road. It wasn't so much that Mr Eucliffe longed to continue to entertain his circles, rather he wished to surprise himself with just how much he could be capable of. In other words, he wanted to prove to himself that he was still a rambunctious young man.

Upon arriving in London, Mr Eucliffe rented an umbrella for the light downpour, continuing on his way to the rendezvous point with his peers. They met up in a small restaurant near the outskirts of town, gathering round the table in a familiar portion of the city.

They chatted and debated their plans for the company, quite fond of what Mr Eucliffe had to say, as usual. They ate a bit and drank a bit until the meeting was settled, at which time everyone said their farewells and went their separate ways. Though, Mr Rufus Lore, a close friend of Mr Eucliffe, had made a habit of keeping him from leaving.

"Tell me, you must be spending the day in town. Share with me your ideas, and don't decline a good friend's invitation." Mr Lore smirked, "Even if it were the host's to give yet his good friend insisted upon it himself."

Mr Eucliffe led them outside. "As it were, I am feeling rather poorly. Perhaps you're company would cheer me up."

"Oh no, my good Sting. What ever could be troubling you?"

"As it would turn out, I've lost interest in my day to day routine."

"Impossible!" Mr Lore cried, "It is foreign to me to learn of such a crime. How should the great Sting Eucliffe fall before the feet of boredom?"

"The feeling is mutual."

His friend opened an umbrella with him and they strolled together through the streets. "Well, brush your knowledge of old conducts and we'll gather new information. Where should you prefer to visit?"

"I can't think of anywhere I've not been before."

"Perhaps you'd like to travel out of country? See the world with Yukino and Lector. If I recall correctly, they've always loved to accompany you on little outings."

"Perhaps you're right."

Mr Lore stopped before a shop window, his back turned to a poster of some sort. While he continued to blabber on, Mr Eucliffe kept glancing over his friend's shoulder to read it. He could make out that it was advertising a newspaper. The headline read "Victim Claimed By East End." How exciting, to be this close to an actual victim case. Though victim to what, suicide, murder, kidnapping, rape? And where was this East End to London? He wanted to travel there and see what kind of place it was.

"That's what I would do," finished Mr Lore.

"Of course!" He said, and smiled as if he'd been listening. "I can always rely on my good friend, Rufus."

"Will you be staying in town, then?"

"Oh, no. I must return to my dear Yukino. I promised I would see her by tonight at the latest."

"Back on the train so soon? Not to mention nightfall is quite a long time from now. Why, it's only half noon."

Mr Eucliffe laughed, "Time is no concern of mine! I long for my wife! So let the hour be young, I'll endure another train before nightfall to see her."

"You are a chivalrous man, my good friend. I'll remember that."

"Where will you be heading?"

"Oh, I'm on my way north. I've missed my aunt's face for too long. This makes it the third year I've gone without seeing her."

Mr Eucliffe patted his friend's shoulder. "So, we're off on noble quests to see dear and lonely women."

"Indeed. It's too bad we couldn't have spent more time together." He put his hand on Mr Eucliffe's shoulder. "We shall meet again very soon. I enjoy our visits."

"Yes," Mr Eucliffe tightened his grip on his friend's jacket. "Our departure is all too sad. I shall miss you, Rufus."

"I shall miss you, my friend. Take care of yourself, and do tend to that problem of yours."

They went off in different directions, Mr Lore to a coach that would take him to his hotel a city over, and Mr Eucliffe to the east end of London.

The city was an experience in itself, the smell of horses, the cramped buildings, the amount of people... But the farther east he drew, the more exciting it became. The people dressed with less care, the buildings all turned to factories or living quarters of sorts, the streets were cluttered with rubbish like laundry, barrels, or brooms...

He thought of ways he could incorporate these things into a new mentality, or new way of living: The children walking around without shoes, for instance. Mr Eucliffe could start a new session of walking round the house barefoot, or in the garden for that matter. He could invite his guests to do it as well, and they could all laugh at his newfound spontaneity. Or take the street signs advertising rooms: Mr Eucliffe could take up the art form of calligraphy, and create his own invitations for house parties. He could take it a step further and start to paint. Maybe portraits of Yukino and Lector. If nothing else, this would serve as holiday from his everyday routine.

Off to the side there looked to be a steady stream going in and out of an alley. Every so often another person would come out of it, and it was so tempting. The arch at the top of it looked inviting enough, how it loomed over the cobblestone, holding the neighbouring buildings apart like the inside of a cathedral.

Mr Eucliffe pushed through the crowd and walked straight under the arch, welcoming himself to a narrow strip of a road. One of the doors along the way was left open, and people were walking inside like it was a public space. Maybe it would be okay if Mr Eucliffe popped in.

He stepped up and into the building, landing his shoe on a slick floor, covered in small bits of gravel. The place was fairly dark, but with the light coming in behind him he could see the floor had been stained a grey colour over time from all the smashed pebbles. What fun. Why were there rocks on the floor? Maybe he could throw some pebbles in his own house and create an inside rock garden for his collection of exotic plants.

A blonde woman hurried over and exposed her shoulders. "Why, hello there. Would you like to follow me?"

Mr Eucliffe knew that very moment where he'd ended up.

"Left you without words, have I? I do apologise. Shall I do all the talking?"

"What might your name be?"

"You may call me Lucy. What might your name be, beautiful?"

The next minute, another stranger ran up to him: A man, no less, with black hair. "Come with me. I'll show you a midnight in paradise."

Lucy hugged one of Mr Eucliffe's arms. "I foresee our stars colliding."

The man grabbed Mr Eucliffe's other arm. "Disappear into the darkness with me."

"I beg your pardon," said Mr Eucliffe. "I should think both of you are extraordinary. Would it be out of the question to disappear into the stars?"

The two scowled at one another.

At the same time, another man neared their group. He was larger, lighter haired man with a peculiar scar running down one eye. "Welcome, sir. Having a bit of trouble, are we?"

Mr Eucliffe began to speak but Lucy cut him off: "I saw him first, he belongs to me."

The black haired man argued, "He already said he wants the both of us."

The larger man interrupted. "Have you decided on both, sir?"

With that, both prostitutes stared at him longingly. How could he be so cruel at that point as to refuse? Or rather, how could he be so cruel as to walk out on such an opportunity to turn his life around?

Mr Eucliffe stated, "I have indeed decided on both of these lovely varieties."

The larger man gave him a number and Mr Eucliffe paid up front for the room, and for a container of oil for some reason. He wondered the reason he was so popular was due to the fact that he was the only one around there with money to spend. The two prostitutes took him to a back room, or closet rather, and invited him to sit on the bed, or carpet rather.

Lucy turned her back to her client and asked if he could get her out of her dress, meanwhile the dark haired man stripped himself.

Mr Eucliffe put the container down, and did his best to untie the woman's corset. He looked towards the man, "What is your name, sir?"

"I'm Rogue. What would you like us to call you?"

"I never thought I would be put to work like this. Removing a woman's dress, choosing a new name for myself."

Lucy offered a bit of support. "A new name isn't necessary. We could address you as a title, or a set of adjectives, or you're birth name..."

"My name is Sting, if you'd like to call me that."

"Sting," Rogue moved onto the carpet, bringing his lips closer to the man's cheek. He spoke slowly, breathing onto Mr Eucliffe's skin. "What a strong, handsome name."

Lucy peeked over her shoulder. "Would you prefer I let my hair down or keep it up?"

"However you'd feel most comfortable."

She blushed and looked straight ahead. "W-whatever you'd like."

Rogue kissed Mr Eucliffe's cheek, helping him remove his jacket. Mr Eucliffe finally had the woman's dress unfastened, and he went on to aide her in pulling it over her head. Lucy ducked out of it and instructed that he just drop it somewhere, surprised at how considerate he was that he kept holding it long after she'd gotten out of it. The woman threw her shoes off and asked if Mr Eucliffe could then help her remove her stockings.

By the time Mr Eucliffe removed all of Lucy's clothes, he was also naked, compliments of Rogue. The man kissed Mr Eucliffe's shoulder all the way to the back of his neck, until he was situated behind him, groping Mr Eucliffe's chest.

Lucy wore an embarrassed smile as she took Mr Eucliffe's hands. "Would you prefer that I face you or away from you?"

"Which one do you recommend?"

"Well, other clients want me facing away from them."

"Then I should like you facing away from me."

Her expression dropped to a level of disappointment, and she positioned herself turned away once again, guiding Mr Eucliffe's hands to hold her waist.

Rogue made a slight chuckle behind him. He then took the container of oil from the floor and unfastened it.

There must've been some sort of rivalry between the two. Mr Eucliffe thought of ways he might use this experience to spice up his life.

Rogue had him get on his knees for better access, and before Mr Eucliffe could put too much thought into the matter, Rogue inserted a couple fingers.

The aristocrat jumped, brushing the head of his dick between Lucy's thighs.

"Dear me," he held Lucy for support as Rogue kept digging deeper.

The woman added, "Vaginal insertion will cost you more."

Mr Eucliffe kept a shallow breath until Rogue began moving in and out of him, at which time the aristocrat grew comfortable to the feeling, or as comfortable as one could with a man's hand up their ass.

Mr Eucliffe finally replied, "I shouldn't like to trouble you with all the aftermaths of that. If it's all the same to you, I should prefer the more simple anal insertion."

Rogue chuckled again. "What is a simple anal insertion? Do you know of one?"

"Not that anal insertion is simple, rather I wouldn't want to have Lucy bothered with childbearing."

Rogue kissed his neck, "You're accent is gorgeous."

"Thank you. Where are you two from that you would sound so different from me?"

Lucy was quick to reply, "Uh, uh, we slum dwellers are denied proper education. That's why we talk so funny."

Rogue made a noise of distaste.

"I see. No reason to be ashamed. After all, where we're born is no choice of our own."

Lucy giggled, though it sounded nervous.

Was this how paupers behaved? Humiliated by their class? He supposed that was normal. Was rivalry common? Maybe they were fighting over his money. He supposed that was normal for poor people too. Mr Eucliffe knew it was all fresh material, and he wanted more. Whatever it took to get his life back.

Rogue spread his fingers against the ring of the aristocrat's entrance. Mr Eucliffe tried not to grunt too much. Meanwhile, Lucy caught his attention and gestured for him to take the container of oil. He did so, and Lucy took one of the aristocrat's hands and directed him to put a few fingers in it. Mr Eucliffe did so and the woman then instructed him to put his wet fingers inside her.

Mr Eucliffe did as he was told, though he thought three was much too bold. After all, this was his first time touching a woman in this way, and he didn't know Lucy at all. So he pushed one finger into the woman. She was exceptionally warm, and the sensation filled his chest with scratchy excitement. This was nothing like he'd experienced before. Never had he touched a naked woman. Never had it been such an unthinkable area of the body.

Lucy sighed, and tipped her head, and made other implications that encouraged him to continue. He tried to move his finger to match Rogue's, assuming that was the proper way to touch someone.

Rogue slipped a hand onto Mr Eucliffe's dick, earning a small gasp from the aristocrat. He ran his fingers over it and whispered into Mr Eucliffe's hair. "You're very well kept, Sting."

"Thank you."

"Is this you're first time in the slum?"

"Oh, yes." He tried to ignore how ill he felt. "As a matter of fact, I'm looking to gather some inspiration for my new lifestyle."

"Are you running low on money?"

"Oh, gracious, no. I've simply grown bored of my everyday routine. I'd actually hoped that by journeying to the east end of London, I would be exposed to new forms of etiquettes."

"Did you plan on spending a lot of money down here?"

"Well, at first I wasn't expecting to spend any at all. But I found myself intrigued by your brothel, and now here I am spending it."

"How much have you got on you?"

"Rogue, our relation is becoming more familiar by the minute. I've only just met you."

Lucy changed topics. "How did you come to hear of the east end?"

"Oh, I happened upon a newspaper posting by the train station. That reminds me, the headline mentioned there'd been a victim claimed round here. What can you tell me about that?"

Rogue said, "Someone's got themself murdered."

"A murder, you say? Was this close by?"

"The east end is one big district. There's no distinction, everything that happens here just does. Whether the murder occurred just outside or on the border of the slum, it's all the east end."

"I don't quite think I understand. Do you mean to tell me the east end of London is an abyss of some sort? In which every nook and cranny is characterised by a single name?"

"That's exactly how it is."

Lucy changed topics again. "Tell us more about you, Sting. I'm sure you're quite the interesting man."

"Oh yes. I have many respectable friends who think so."

"Tell us about you, Sting."

"Of course," He then went on talking about how much he loved entertaining, and reading, and playing piano, and taking walks through the garden... For the most part, he was only trying to calm himself down. But he always liked to boast about his domestic life.

After some additional stretching exercises with his fingers, Rogue removed his hand and positioned himself right up against Mr Eucliffe. "Lucy, he's ready."

The aristocrat's throat caught for a moment, and he waited for whatever was to happen next. Rogue had messaged his dick to a stiffer form, which was embarrassing. In the first place, he was getting hard about a man; and it was unsightly for an aristocrat to be so shameless about his pleasure.

"Sting," called Lucy in a breathless fashion. "Would you bring me your penis?"

Mr Eucliffe was stuck: Should he remove his finger to present her with what she'd requested? Or bring it to her with his other hand? Or maybe lean forward as Rogue had? He pushed his hips onward and Lucy took hold of his dick. She told him to replace his finger with it, and so the aristocrat did so.

As he sank into the woman, he thought of his lovely wife, and how she was miles away expecting him back home by nightfall. Lucy pushed back against him until she was right up against his balls.

Rogue took him by the waist and forced himself inside the aristocrat. Mr Eucliffe gasped and felt his lower stomach tense.

"Relax, Sting."

Mr Eucliffe trembled against the two prostitutes, finding he'd trapped himself between them.

"Breathe with me." Rogue exhaled onto the aristocrat's collar, inviting him to take up the same steady pace.

Mr Eucliffe copied Rogue's breath to the best of his ability.

Knowing how uncomfortable the aristocrat must've felt, the prostitutes began showering him with compliments and praise. Rogue rubbed his face against the man's jaw and stroked Mr Eucliffe's head. Lucy smiled at the man over her shoulder and reached back to hold his hand.

Why was he so afraid? Was he afraid? Maybe he was just nervous. He ought to be; this was his first time in a sketchy neighbourhood, and inside a brothel, and getting intimate with two strangers at a time.

He liked the attention though he had to admit.

Rogue asked, "Don't you want us?"

"Of course, I should feel honoured that you've presented me with such an unusual endeavour."

"You trust us, don't you?"

"Very much so."

Rogue's voice was slow, a terrible appeal about it. "We're here to help you."

The aristocrat had his eyes locked on Lucy's. She had big dark eyes. Eyes like he'd never seen. Nothing like his lovely wife's or Lectors. There was a pauper's touch to Lucy's eyes. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he thought it might have something to do with the lack of _guarantee_ that came with being poor. Like whether one would eat, or whether one would remain safe over night.

Rogue pushed in and out of him with less resistance then, moving like his fingers. The effort pressed Mr Eucliffe into Lucy's backend, starting a rhythm for him. The aristocrat went along with his body and pushed in and out of Lucy, copying Rogue.

The feeling was strange, having your dick in someone's ass and someone else's dick in yours. Why did Mr Eucliffe agree to this? He must've been too close to the situation to make an educated decision. He was too busy feeding off everyone's excitement. Now, he was in a closet, holding in any noises he might make.

"L-Lucy, I wouldn't want your neck to catch. Do feel free to position yourself in a manner that is most comfortable."

The woman flattened her brow and faced forward, while Rogue gave another chuckle. She wouldn't see his expressions at least.

Rogue asked, "Have we told you everything you ever wanted to know about the east end?"

"Er, yes. Thank you."

"Anything for you, Sting. Whatever it is, we're right here."

"Thank you. My, you two are quite hospitable."

"You're rather special, aren't you, Sting? I've never heard such talk. Where do your manners come from?"

"O-oh, my family is well respected. As an aristocrat, I hold a certain responsibility to keep an appearance of gentility."

"You're too good to us, Sting."

"Certainly not. I dare say, you two have very little regard for yourselves."

Rogue moaned in his ear, which sent shivers to Mr Eucliffe's stomach. "You're a good boy, aren't you?"

The aristocrat fell silent as Rogue exhaled into his hair. In all his shock, he stopped moving. At which time Lucy took over, and she pushed herself along Mr Eucliffe. Now he had no control: The prostitutes were having their way with him, and he became truly stuck in the middle. His pelvis hit one body after the other, caught in a tireless cage, like a loose marble rattling round in a box.

Rogue shoved harder, forcing the aristocrat to lean over Lucy. Her soft backend cradled into his lower stomach. Lucy was hardly moving at that point, she simply propped her arms out to keep her ass against the aristocrat, Rogue was the one moving the group and feeding her more of Mr Eucliffe.

The middlemost man let out a quite cry before snapping his mouth shut. "Dear me! I do apologise."

Rogue hummed into his neck. "Free your voice, Sting. Tell us what it is you want."

The aristocrat’s knees shook under the weight. "I-I'm not sure what to do with myself!"

Rogue moaned between kisses, "Is this pleasurable?"

"Q-quite, I'm afraid!"

"Don't be ashamed. You've been deprived haven't you?"

"R-Rogue!" Something inside him was growing very sensitive. "What is this?"

"What is what?"

"Something ins- I-I feel-"

Rogue shoved harder and took deep breaths of Mr Eucliffe's skin.

It was hard to breathe. The closet air became damp. Mr Eucliffe's knees trembled beneath him as he unwillingly drove, again and again, into Lucy. He held onto the woman, staring down at what he could see of her back. He felt like he might've been upside down, and it didn't help that he was already feeling vulnerable.

Lucy asked, "This isn't your first time, is it, Sting?"

"N-not quite!" He couldn't contain his breath anymore, and panted down the woman's spine.

"Sting," she giggled.

It was nothing like his lovely wife's giggle. He missed her in that moment. He wondered why he ever agreed to this. He wondered why he'd let himself get so carried away. Well, actually, this was the perfect opportunity to collect inspiration. He instantly began thinking of ways to incorporate this being beat back and forth into a new routine. Maybe he could... Well, he couldn't think of anything.

Rogue rubbed his sweaty face all over Mr Eucliffe's shoulders. He wrapped his arms round the aristocrat and let his fingertips tickle the man's ribs.

Lucy arched her back with how heated it became, sighing little comfortable noises. She hung her head for a while, exposing some loose hairs at the bottom of her hairdo. Mr Eucliffe knew he'd been stationed at the woman's backend for the exact reason that he could discharge inside her, but at that point, he didn't exactly want to discharge at all. It was vulgar, especially in front of strangers, and in front of two at the same time.

But the two were performing this just for him, and it would be rude not to express how much he was enjoying it. If that's what this was.

"Lucy," he pleaded, "I am sorry-"

"I'm here for your pleasure, Sting." She said in a calm tone that, regardless of the derogatory message, strangely made him feel a lot better.

Rogue slowed his pace as he hummed into Mr Eucliffe's shoulder. Both that needy vibration and Rogue's more concentrated thrusts forced Mr Eucliffe over the edge, and there went his pride.

The aristocrat called out in a pathetic cry before panting shamelessly for air. He tried not to lean too much on Lucy any more than he already was. It was embarrassing, that's all he could say.

Rogue gave him a few more humps before pulling out, allowing him to remove himself from Lucy. The woman turned round and cupped his face.

"You were excellent, Sting." Her eyes were half open from exhaustion.

Rogue messaged the aristocrat's back, kissing him various places to get Mr Eucliffe to calm down.

"M-my apologies. I've just-"

Lucy shook her head and stroked his hair. "Don't be sorry, beautiful. It's poor flattery. Oh, you were so good to me."

Mr Eucliffe blushed with all the praise once again. He thought he might shower his guests with similar flattery. Though, he would need to change the lines a bit.

Rogue said, "You're skin is so delectable, Sting. What do you do to it?"

"Oh, I take very good care of myself. I actually have imported oils and bathing assortments added to baths." He took a deep breath to further regain himself. "You two were marvellous. I thank you for your efforts and time."

Lucy kissed round his jaw. "You're very welcome."

It was much later, after the two had pampered Mr Eucliffe to the best of their abilities, when they talked money. As it turned out, they'd treated him with very expensive care. Possibly they were trying to get as much money out of him as they could. That didn't much matter to Mr Eucliffe; he had plenty of it, and the experience was memorable enough. They deserved every last pent.

It was dark, and Mr Eucliffe was on a train back to his estate. He knew he should've been dreaming about his lovely wife and how she would be waiting up all night for him. Or perhaps about how he would make his lie exciting again using the material he'd experienced through the day. But he could only think of Lucy and Rogue. He thought about how the two treated him so well and with such intimacy. They'd never met him before, but they knew exactly where to touch, what to say, how to work a client. He supposed the two of them must've had plenty of practice.

Even though he knew the way they acted was only to get more money out of him, and the only reason they knew what they knew was from past clients, and that the whole thing had no deeper significance, Mr Eucliffe fell in love with them.

Seated at the low parlour table, Lector played another tricky card. It seemed the exceed had a whole bunch of those. Mr Eucliffe wondered if Lector was cheating somehow. After a few more hands the game was lost, and as Lector cheered, Mr Eucliffe calculated how all those convenient cards ended up in the exceed's hand.

"You've cheated, Lector!"

"Oh, no I haven't! I've beaten you fair and square!"

"Fine, then. We'll play again."

Yukino sat on the couch to finish her two-act play. "Are you sure you're not too tired from the train ride? You're welcome to sleep all today."

"I'm fit as a fiddle. In any case, I should like to spend my leisurely time with my family."

She asked, "How did the meeting go? Did Rufus attend?"

"Oh yes, he did. He's doing well. The meeting was as bland as ever. Everyone wanted to know what I thought, of course."

"Don't you think you should regard your meetings with greater sincerity?"

"One would hope." After a moment, he turned his entire body toward Yukino. "Darling, I should like to tell you something."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Well, lately I've noticed my life follows a strict pattern without much room for spontaneity. As you know, I hold a reputation for such a mannerism. So, you can imagine how upset this has made me."

She closed her book on her lap. "Oh, Sting, are you upset?"

Lector cried, "Not you, Master Sting!"

"Quite." He said.

Yukino asked, "What do you propose to do?"

"Naturally, I would seek inspiration. My last trip to London reminded me of my fortune. The city life is an entirely different breed to what I'm accustomed out here on the estate. Indeed, my trip has given me room to breathe. I felt an unfamiliar sense of freedom, though by the abnormal I was surrounded."

Yukino stated, "Then you must return."

"Oh, unthinkable. I should stay here with you and Lector."

"Not if you are to be miserable." She creased her brow at him from across the way. "Sting, if it is inspiration you're after, you must retrieve it. This is your wellbeing you're addressing. It's highly irresponsible to deny your instincts."

"But, darling-"

"Sting, you really must take better care of yourself."

Well, there was no going back now. His wife was set on letting him wander back to London. In truth, Mr Eucliffe was looking for any chance he could get to hurry back there. He was still on about Lucy and Rogue. Yes, his family was dear to him, but the sensation he felt when recalling his night in the brothel was overpowering. It was like he'd been cursed with a rage that could only be dowsed by the prostitutes. He would prepare to take the next train back to London.

Rogue sat amongst the rest of his assembly line, crammed against the table by a wooden stool, a stack of small cuts of paper stretched along the entirety of the workers. He picked out a longer piece to match the square paper in his hand and fastened them together at the ends with some adhesive, which was shared amongst every three workers. Most times he was to wheel in another batch of paper, but now that there was plenty, he was to join in with the others.

Rogue worked in a matchbox factory, where he and a suffocating amount of women (and some young boys) spent sixteen hours a day gluing matchboxes together. The place smelt of parchment and adhesive, which made him nauseous. Early in the morning when the factory opened, low hanging lamps lit the worktables, which gave off additional smells of gas. Time and again, the shadow of a fly would wriggle around the table. Rogue would try not to be distracted by it, as it would frustrate him. Eventually someone would swat it off or catch it, which Rogue was thankful for.

Because he was only allowed to work after he'd replenished the stack on the table, he stuck to a position near the end. That was where he dumped new pieces onto the table for the workers to send down the line. Two women Rogue had come to know quite well occupied this spot, as that was their assigned position. Their names were Erza and Millianna. They took their work very seriously, and they always produced more than their share of boxes.

Often times, Millianna would get them talking so much they would forget how tedious the process was to complete. Each of them in the factory were expected to make one thousand boxes before leaving, and Rogue knew he would've otherwise gone mad if it weren't for their company.

Elfman, the manager, found it necessary to ridicule Rogue for being the oldest man in the assembly. "Matchmaking is women's work. You're not a boy anymore. It's time you learned how to make real money round here and found a job in machinery. Don't you want to improve this country?"

Erza would then argue, "Rogue is an important member of this team. Woman or not, he's building one thousand boxes every day without complaint."

Time and again, Millianna would chime in with some reinforcement. After a short while, the manager would leave them alone. But it wouldn't stop him from coming up with a new argument to bring back a day or two later.

After work, it would be suppertime. Rogue went home with brittle fingers and a headache, not to mention his ass always hurt. But none of it mattered anymore once he'd returned home to Frosch. Knowing his dear friend was waiting for him at the door every night always made him feel better.

The exceed pawed his legs. "How was Rogue's day?"

He handed one of his roommates the three loaves of bread he'd bought after work. "It went fine. How are you?"

"Fro is fine too."

With the extra money he got from Sting, he was able to buy two more loaves than usual. That should be able to feed everyone two dinners and one breakfast.

There were seven other people living in the room they all shared, each of them working to pay the rent and bring home their share of food. It was a steady bunch, this one. So they'd all gotten to know one another.

Usually a person would start making more money and move to another floor, somewhere they could sleep in their own bed, or at least a more comfortable one. Or sometimes a person would grow tired of the constant struggle and move to a workhouse, where a person was guaranteed a bed, meals, work, and healthcare. From what Rogue heard from others who'd left, the only drawbacks were being separated from family, beatings and mockery were regular, and if you were treated like inmates rather than guests. It sounded awful. Rogue couldn't understand why anyone would prefer that to the way they were living before.

The sun came through the only window of the room, which had a handkerchief stuffed in a hole in the glass: Someone had thrown a rock through it, and the handkerchief was to keep the cold out. Soon it would be summer, and they would need all the air they could get. This was their seasonally ritual: Plugging and unplugging the hole in the window.

Rogue sat on the damp floor with Frosch, smiling back at his friend.

"Fro found this string for Rogue."

The exceed held out a long, thick string from one of the bed blankets. Rogue took it by the middle and they both watched the ends of it run off Frosch's paws. He then pinched both ends of it to admire how long it was.

"Thank you, this is beautiful."

"Fro wanted Rogue to break it in half. So Rogue could have one, and Fro could have the other."

Rogue found the middle and pulled the string in two. After presenting Frosch with the results, the exceed went on:

"Rogue will tie one string to a finger, and Fro will tie the other string to a finger."

He handed his friend one of the strings and they both wrapped their piece round one of their fingers, much like a ring of sorts.

"Fro wanted to wear a friendship ring with Rogue."

He smiled down at his hand. "Frosch, this is the nicest gift anyone has given me."

"Fro is happy."

There was only one bed amongst the nine of them, so sleeping arrangements came down to who made most money, or who was providing most for everyone. These were the few who kept them out of debt so they all could continue to live with a roof over their heads, or the few who brought food for everyone so they could sleep without going hungry. The rest of them were making so little, they could hardly afford anything. These people put money towards the rent just to feel helpful.

Rogue was one of the lucky people who earned a spot on the bed, which fit four people comfortably, five if they really wanted. Frosch slept right up next to him to save space, and because it was warmer. Minerva, whom he got along with most, was one of the less lucky people who slept against a wall or on a chair. As a side note, there was no room for guilt in the slum: Those who worked hard deserved their rewards, and those who couldn't find better jobs (or weren't very good at the ones they had) were reminded to work harder.

Day by day, they worked to remain in their room. When times were tough, everyone put their money towards rent: For they would rather have a place to sleep than stay warm or eat. However, the warmer seasons were arriving, and they would soon have one less thing to worry about.

Rogue left everyday for the factory in the dark, leaving Frosch with the others until they too would leave for work. The only one without an actual job was Minerva. She sat outside on the building's doorstep, offering to shine shoes. Frosch sat with her, drawing flowers in the mud-covered street. She agreed to watch Frosch until Rogue returned because he was afraid the factory would overwhelm the exceed too much. He would much rather Frosch was safe at home with Minerva.

That was the schedule: Working, eating, sleeping. With how poor they were, every little bit helped. So Rogue sought additional work on the side as a prostitute, and it was convenient that his work got out while it was still light (in the spring and summer at least), because he could find more clients walking around.

He attended the nearest meeting spot for needy workers like him, which happened to be Laxus's house. For a small living, Laxus rented rooms to whores and their clients. It wasn't a brothel because overnight rooms and meals weren't provided, but it was often referred to as one by those new to the business: Like Sting. The name brothel also gave it a more homely vibe, and made it seem as though the house was a safe and controlled environment. This worked to trick clients into offering more money as well, which wasn't a bad deal. That was of course, until a client requested to stay overnight. Well, because Laxus had to worry about being ratted out to police, he usually obliged to the client as long as they paid extra. But he never advertised the idea because it slowed traffic.

Rogue stayed off the streets as often he could, lest someone in his living quarter group spotted him. He waited around the ground floor of Laxus's house until he could snatch a client walking in.

Today was slow. Maybe two clients walked in every couple of hours, but they were quickly snatched by whores hanging around the alley outside. Rogue waited and waited. Sometimes, while the alley whores were busy with someone, a client would be able to step inside the house before being attacked.

This just so happened to be the case. And it just so happened that the client walking through the door was the same aristocrat from a few weeks ago.

Rogue could use that money. He hurried across the room without drawing too much attention to himself and latched onto the man.

"I'll bet you missed being bent over. Isn't that right, my little shadow?"

The aristocrat gave him a wide grin. "Well, hello there! I was so hoping I'd see you once more. Though, Lucy seems to be absent."

"Oh, we don't need Lucy, do we? Wouldn't you rather spend time alone with me?"

"I really have missed both of you. I should like to see Lucy again as well. My last experience here was truly wonderful. If I may, I'd like to request the two of you this round as well."

"Lucy isn't here today. Allow me to double my effort for you."

"That won't be necessary. If Lucy isn't here, it can't be helped, I'm afraid."

As the aristocrat babbled on about how sad he was, Rogue called Laxus over to talk business. Sting paid for another room and some oil, and Rogue took him away.

"I wish Lucy could be here. Already, the excitement upon entering this very closet from my last visit has vanished."

Rogue helped the man out of his jacket, kissing his neck.

"I should think this next round would be quite different. So much so, I think I shall need to prepare myself for an entirely new process."

Rogue unbuttoned the man's vest, sucking just under his jaw.

"How shall I know what to do? Lucy was very good at instructing me. She was much like a personal teacher, directing my every move. She was much like a puppeteer, really."

Rogue removed the man's tie and unfastened the man's blouse, dampening the aristocrat's skin with his heavy breaths.

"She was so helpful. Even the way she looked back at me was reassuring. You know, she has quite the dark set of eyes. Dark like the sky."

Rogue pulled the man's trousers down, coming away from him to speak. "Her eyes are not like the sky."

"Oh, but they are. Dark and mysteri-"

"Her eyes aren't that dark."

"That was how they appeared when she turned to gaze upon me."

"Well, they're not that dark."

"Rogue, I must ask you a question."

He stopped working on the man's trousers, staring him straight in the face. "Why do you remember my name?"

"Why, Rogue! However could you think any less of yourself! Of course I remember your name."

"You're quite fond of Lucy's name."

"Indeed, this is why I must ask you a question. You see, the last time I was here, I couldn't help but notice a sort of rivalry between the two of you. I must know this: Are all paupers fighting for attention?"

Rogue paused for a while. "No."

"Is the rivalry strictly between you and Lucy? Or is this common amongst prostitutes?"

He paused again. "If you must know, clients usually request a single whore at a time."

"Oh," his brow folded in distress. "Do forgive me, I've made a discourteous decision..."

"It's all right." Rogue instructed that the man step out of his trousers.

"And I must also know why you think so little of yourself that you assumed I would've forgotten your name."

Rogue unbuttoned the man's underwear suit, kissing his way down to Sting's hips with each undone fasten.

"Even if you are a pauper, you must really think better of yourself."

He rubbed the aristocrat's balls through the fabric, causing Sting to gasp.

"Oh! You see? How was I to prepare for that? I really so miss my last visit. Though I know it was vulgar. Oh, dash it all!"

Rogue put his lips against the bulge and sucked, Sting throwing his hands on him in a panic.

"Oh no, Rogue! N-never!"

He looked up at Sting, who stared back down at him with his eyes wide open. The aristocrat panted onto his forehead.

"Don't be shy."

"Never have I dreamed this would happen! Rogue, you're a beast!"

"There's a first time for everything. You know, you're the first client to refuse my performance."

"I do apologise, really I do."

Rogue came off his knees and took Sting's underwear by the shoulders. "Are you ready?"

The aristocrat held Rogue's wrists. "No!"

"Will you ever be?"

"No!"

Rogue leaned in and took the man by the mouth, pushing Sting into the wall. He swam his tongue round Sting's, attempting to pull it into his own mouth. The aristocrat went along with it at first, not sure what to do with himself. Sting held Rogue's face, relaxing his arms enough that the prostitute could start removing the underwear. This was not Sting's plan, and he tried to keep his clothes on by raising his arms above his head. Rogue would need to get the man's arms out of the suit if he was going to undress him. So, he slipped his hands round Sting's sides and tickled him.

"Rogue, no!" He latched his arms against his ribs, trapping the prostitute's hands in place.

Rogue pulled himself free and took Sting's underwear. As he peeled it off the aristocrat, Sting cried refusal after refusal.

"Oh, Rogue," he said as his underwear hung from his waist. The prostitute held it in place, waiting for the opportune moment.

"Ready?"

"Oh no!" A smile spread across his lips, a blush across his nose. "Rogue, oh no!"

"Your hesitance is charming. You really are an aristocrat, aren't you?"

"Of course." He held tight to Rogue's head. "I don't believe I could ever make myself more prepared than I am now."

"What about your exciting new life? Could I help inspire you?"

"You do inspire me, my dear Rogue. I dare say, I thought of you and Lucy every second I've been away."

Rogue smiled, "I knew it. I told you, didn't I?"

"I do still miss Lucy, and it seems I can never have the same experience as that first visit. I shall always remember."

"The poor thing. I hope I can make this time just as memorable."

"It'll have to do, yes."

Rogue pulled the underwear below Sting's balls, exposing his barely erect member. The aristocrat started a heavier breath with Rogue's mouth just inches away from it.

"Rogue..."

He closed his mouth round the base and pulled away, dragging his tongue along the underside of it.

Sting whimpered and straight after apologised for it.

"Don't be frightened. Tell me what pleasures you." He unscrewed the oil container and slathered his hand. As Sting's legs trembled under his weight, the prostitute closed a hand round the aristocrat's dick. In a slow and easy motion, he pumped Sting.

"Rogue!" The aristocrat bent forward, leaning over Rogue's head.

"Does this please you?"

"Your voice! The way you say these things to me is like poison! I'm not sure what's right anymore."

"Why are you trying to be right? Isn't this all experimental?"

"Of course, but is it? I'm not sure." He watched Rogue slide along his member another minute. "Is this the inspiration I'm looking for?"

"I hope it is." He sucked the head of Sting's dick, swirling his tongue round it and poking the slit.

"Rogue! Y-you're very good at this, aren't you?" He listened to the sucking noises for a while. "If it were up to me, I'd think this the perfect experience for a new lifestyle. I'd think this exactly what I've been hoping for."

Rogue kissed off him. "So what's holding you back, my little shadow?"

"I-" He stared down into Rogue's red eyes. "I don't know, really. In any case, if I were to get into any real trouble, it would only give me something to do. I've come to be extraordinarily bored, as it were."

"Do you like wasting time with me?"

"Very much so, yes. I still can't figure why exactly that is."

Rogue took the member in his mouth, moving his hand down to grope Sting's balls.

"Oh," he moaned, "Goodness!"

Rogue sucked and licked and rubbed to get the aristocrat's penis up. It was remarkable how much control Sting had over it, considering how sensitive he was.

"Rogue! Oh, Rogue!"

It sounded like Sting was calling for help. Somehow Rogue felt second-hand embarrassment from it. At least he wasn't keeping to himself anymore.

"Mmm," Sting dug his fingers into the prostitute's hair. He was already putting much of his weight on Rogue, leaning on him and such.

The prostitute came off him again. "Sting, why don't you lie down?"

He panted, "Where?"

Rogue pulled him down and laid him across the carpet. The aristocrat had his knees together, hands hovering above his hips in mid-motion. Rogue held Sting's ankles and positioned them farther apart, sliding between the aristocrat’s legs.

"Rogue..."

"Pull my hair, Sting." As he lowered himself to the wet member, Sting tangled his fingers in Rogue's hair again.

"Doesn't this hurt you?"

"No, it feels good."

Sting tensed his shoulders and Rogue knew the aristocrat liked his choice of words.

"Spread your legs for me."

"Oh, God..." Sting tipped his head back but didn't do much else.

Rogue pushed the man's thighs down manually, feeling them trembled under his pressure. He ate up Sting's dick again, lips closed round the start of it, nearly against the man's balls. He tickled his throat with it, swallowing against the head.

"Rogue, oh, God!"

Sting fought the prostitute's hold to close his thighs, but Rogue kept him in place. He pumped Sting with his mouth, humming round it and making all sorts of sucking noises. The aristocrat arched his back. He moaned and kept crying out to Rogue. He panted long, heavy breaths, fists held tight against Rogue's head.

"Rogue!"

He gave it one more good suck before pulling off it, leaving Sting just before an orgasm. As the aristocrat squeezed his eyes closed, panting little whimpers, Rogue undid his trousers and slicked his own member in oil.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Sting?"

He nodded.

He pushed two fingers into Sting, playing with his ring of muscle to get it to loosen up. Sting turned his head and raised a knee, twisting his hips against Rogue fingers.

"Do you like this?"

Sting pinched his lips together.

He pushed his fingers deeper, Sting's hands still caught in his hair. He rubbed the aristocrat's insides, moving in and out of him.

"Mmm!" Sting's entire body tensed; his back arched, legs closed, ass clenched... And before Rogue knew it, Sting came onto himself with a loud, "Aahh!" Followed by a louder gasp.

Rogue continued thrusting until Sting was done.

Well, that wasn't supposed to happen. He guessed he underestimated how well Sting could handle himself. That, or Rogue had teased him too much.

Whatever the reason, the prostitute still had a pulsing boner. He didn't just begin to prepare Sting for nothing...

Rogue moved his fingers around, sliding against the oil that now lined Sting's insides. He stretched the man and played with him, waiting for the skin to soften round his fingers. By then, the aristocrat was starting another hard on. The man must really be letting himself enjoy this.

He held his dick up to Sting's entrance, forcing the aristocrat to tremble harder. "Do you want this?"

He swallowed. "Y-yes..."

Rogue pushed all the way into Sting. He took the man by the hips and pulled him closer, so he could sit in Rogue's lap. With one hand holding Sting there, he grabbed the man's dick and pumped it as he pushed in and out of him.

Sting moved back and forth against the carpet with the pressure. His legs went limp round Rogue's waist, not knowing what else to do with them.

"Sting," he moaned.

The man wouldn't let go of Rogue's hair.

"Hold your elbows above your head."

Sting released his grip and raised his arms above his head, grabbing hold of his elbows. His entire torso was exposed and laid out before Rogue. He was a pretty aristocrat: chest heaving, legs shaking... Sting's chin pointed at the ceiling, his little blush, by then, covered his entire face.

He slapped against Sting, fingering the head of the man's dick.

Sting panted quick moans. He was becoming less talkative, and Rogue hoped that was a good thing.

"Sting, do you like it?"

He nodded.

Rogue bent forward and kissed the man's chin, earning an anxious moan from the other. Sting took a deep breath from his open mouth, arching his back again. Rogue closed his hand round the base of Sting's dick and dragged his grip up and down, a slimy sound following his movements.

"A-auh," Sting moaned, his dick jumping in Rogue's hand. His seed shot onto the prostitute’s lower stomach.

Rogue kept going until he came inside Sting. The aristocrat took deep breaths, his heart pounding in his chest.

Rogue pulled out and gave Sting's dick another suck. He licked Sting clean of his seed, sucking the aristocrat's soft skin. He continued to do so until he was up at Sting's face again, at which time he kissed the man.

Sting lied still, trying to keep himself from shaking, eyes closed. Rogue kissed the man's open mouth, sucking on the man's lower lip.

After a while of breathing, the aristocrat spoke up in a small voice. "Rogue... I've never felt quite like this before..."

"So I did it, then. I got you to experience something new."

He held Rogue's face, and the prostitute kissed him again.

Rogue finished with the man and dressed him, collecting his earnings as before. He pushed the door open wider and pulled Sting out, leading him out the house. The aristocrat said goodbye again and kept thanking him with every step. Sting certainly was an upperclassman. Though, all the kindness made Rogue uncomfortable, and not just because Sting was a stranger.

He walked back to his living quarter, using the rain to wash his hands. It wasn't too dark out, and the streets were still crowded. It wouldn't be too suspicious coming home at this hour. Sting kept him much longer than any client he'd ever had. He imagined it was because Sting had a way of talking too much.

Well, Rogue had a pound in his pocket. That was more money than what everyone in his living quarter made all together. He thought about how he should spend it. Should he tell the others? Should he start saving for something? He thought about what they needed in the room. A stove would be nice for the winter. And that way they cook their own meals instead of having to buy hot gruel in the market. Would a stove even fit in the room? Where would he even get one?

An aftertaste of oil and semen lingered on his tongue. He gathered enough saliva at the front of his mouth and spit onto the mud.

Maybe he should ask the others what they would do with a pound. Not that he had one in his pocket. He didn't want to overwhelm them, not to the point that they would drive themselves mad with all the possibilities.

Rogue entered the room, greeted at once by his dear friend.

"Rogue is home now!"

"Frosch!" He kneeled to embrace the exceed.

Minerva sat up from lying in the corner. "There ye are, lad."

The rest of them were either sleeping or eating thin bits of cheese round the room. They asked him how his day went and whether he'd brought anything home.

Rogue asked back, "What would you do if you were rich?"

Everyone chimed in with something to say:

"I'd eat myself fat!"

"I'd buy me a big old mansion! I'd buy everyone in this room a mansion too!"

"I'd like a nice soft bed to sleep on."

"I want an education. I want a better job than the one I've got."

Rogue then asked, "If you could change one thing about the way we're living now, what would you do?"

They all went off again:

"I'd buy this room! I'm tired of renting it!"

"I'd get a brand new bed."

"I'd still eat myself fat!"

Minerva asked him, "Why? Did ye rob the bank?"

Rogue replied. "I earned more money than usual for my efforts, and I want to hear your say in the matter. What should I do with it?"

They said:

"Buy another bed."

"Pay off the debt."

"How much you got?"

Rogue showed them the money, and everyone gasped, went faint, or shouted in triumph. By then, some of the others woke up to see what the matter was. The more privileged of the room gathered with Rogue to discuss how to spend it, Minerva and the rest waited round the outskirts of the huddle for the plan.

"We'll pay off our debt," one suggested. "I'd rather a roof over my head than anything."

"How much do we owe? Will a pound leave us with extra money?"

"We'll have short of two pence left over."

"That's not even enough for a spoon of milk."

Rogue inputted, "Fine. As long as the debt's paid."

So, they got their debt paid off for the time being, and Rogue added the remainder of the money to the savings box.

Millianna laughed across the table, opening and closing her newly made matchbox. "The other day I saw a kitty! It was simply adorable! I wanted to take it with me and show it my home."

"How are you finding all these cats?" Erza asked from the seat beside Rogue. "Are you still wandering the market for a husband?"

"Oh, yes. I almost met a man. Our hands touched the same cabbage and we talked for a bit. I'm still not very good at meeting people."

"That's all right. I've heard of successful single women."

"I'd at least like a man who earns enough to take me away from the slum."

Erza nodded, "I know. But we're making a living, aren't we?"

"Hardly. But things could always be worse off."

"Right. At least we're still able enough to stay out of the workhouse. "

Rogue wasn't a woman looking for a husband. Nor was he interested in spending time round the market looking at small animals. At times like these, he would remain quiet until a better topic came about. Still, hearing them talk was enough to distract him from work: He'd simply go into autopilot and watch the boxes be made before his eyes.

After work, he went to buy another loaf of bread. He had a crick in his neck from sleeping funny last night. Minerva's life must've been hell, having to sleep on the floor.

Frosch met him at the door, and they all ate supper. They were sick of bread, but it kept them fuller longer than other foods. Time and again they had jam stored in the pantry. It was even less often that they had any vegetables.

Rogue shared most of his rations with Frosch. Not because the exceed didn't make any money, but because Frosch was always so hungry. See, Minerva had taught Frosch how to shine shoes, and when the exceed wasn't being silly drawing flowers, Frosch would also help to clean customers' shoes. Not that they would stay clean for too long in the slum. So Frosch worked up a healthy appetite every day.

Rogue's stomach didn't bother him too much. Knowing Frosch wasn't going hungry was good enough for him. The others thought he was foolish, but Rogue didn't care. All the ridicule from the factory over the years had made him thick skinned.

He woke up before dawn again and eased out of bed, trying not to disturb Frosch. Though it didn't work as he'd planned.

"Rogue," whispered the exceed. "Fro wants to go too."

He put a hand on his friend's head. "Frosch, I need you to help Minerva. Can I count on you?"

"Yes."

"I knew I could. I'll be back soon."

"All right. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Frosch." Rogue snuck out the door and headed down the spiral stair. He thought about doing something with his life. How he could work his way to fortune and get Frosch out of London, or the east end if anything.

He could always hunt down that aristocrat at the whorehouse. Sting was very loose with his money. Maybe if Rogue could continue to give him the same treatment as last time, he could make some real money. Heck, he wouldn't have to build matchboxes anymore.

So, after work, Rogue went straight to Laxus's house.

He wouldn't be the only one to abandon the living quarter group. Lots of others had left them for better things. Rogue tried to get himself to stop thinking with a group mentality. If he was going to get Frosch out of the slum, he needed to start looking at life through an individualist lens. It was an unfamiliar idea. All his life, he'd worked to keep his given living quarter group well. The slum was a group effort. It was impossible to provide for yourself otherwise.

But now Rogue wanted Frosch to be free of the caged life. Spending day to day inside the rotting room or out in the smog infested street. There was no time to play, no time to be young. He wanted Frosch to eat nice things, and sleep on soft beds, and wear stainless clothes. Maybe it was asking too much, but Frosch deserved better. More than anything, Rogue just wanted to be with his friend. He spent too much time away trying to earn money, when he should've been home playing with Frosch.

Coming out of his thoughts, he realised the place had a steady flow of customers coming in. Lucy was there that day. She was talking to someone over on the side. Maybe she'd stay there long enough to miss Sting coming in.

Time went on and he denied every customer that approached him, leaving Laxus furious. He explained how he was waiting for the aristocrat to come back. Laxus doubted he would, but Rogue kept standing by. By then, Lucy had seen three men, and she sat around looking for another one. He hoped someone would take her before Sting cam in.

After a while, he hoped Sting would come at all. He was just as anxious as Laxus. Then, before his very eyes, an aristocrat appeared through the door.

Sting looked around as Rogue ran straight to him.

"Rogue! My dear-"

"Let's go." He took Sting by the arm.

"Now wait a minute. I'm requesting something different this round. How about I take you into town and show you the shops?"

"No, don't be ridiculous." Rogue tried a smile, "How would I know how to look at shops?"

"Oh, it's quite simple, really. Come, I'll show y-"

Rogue pulled him farther into the house. "Wouldn't you rather stay here and put your feet up? You can sit on me, of course."

"Well actually," he smiled back at the prostitute. "As much as I love your service, I'm looking for a companion to share the street with me. Maybe put your arm round mine... A pleasant talk..."

Rogue lowered his brow, confused by that idea. "We can talk here. You do every time, you know."

Laxus interrupted to get some money out of the aristocrat before the two of them ventured any further. Sting was hesitant to buy oil this time, but Laxus and Rogue both persuaded him into it. The man had money to spend anyway, even if he wasn't going to use the lubricant.

Rogue led them out of sight, round a corner and into the back hall.

"What I mean to say is, I'm looking to give you a treatment of my own. I'll be pleasuring you, as it were."

"Pleasure me here, my shadow. Aw, you're not afraid of the dark, are you?"

"Please, Rogue. Let me take you to see the town."

He leaned into Sting's ear, brushing their cheeks together. "I don't want to give myself a reputation, if you know what I mean."

"Of being seen with me? Why w-"

"No, of being a whore."

"Gracious! How in the world would-"

Rogue dug his lips into the aristocrat's ear. "People round here don't simply walk with their arms round upperclassmen."

Sting shied away from the touch, returning to kiss Rogue against the cheek. "I do find you fascinating, Rogue. Why, all you do is speak yet you make me want to kiss you."

He blinked at Sting in awe. How could this man be so stupid? The reason he was so attached to Rogue was because he was a horny rich man. Being of such high society, he probably never had sex.

"Oh, all right. We'll have a pleasant talk right here."

"You're too kind." Rogue pulled the closet door open and led Sting inside.

They sat on the carpet once again, and as the door closed on itself the hallway light became nothing more than a slit against the doorframe, peeking inside the room across their bodies.

Sting situated himself directly in front of Rogue, sitting on his knees. He then went on about his day, and the day before, and the day before. He told Rogue how much he longed to be with him whenever they were apart. It sounded like the man had no friends.

"Sting, you're a very busy person." He pulled his hands down the aristocrat's face, bringing them back up again in slow motions. "It's time you wind down."

"I only do these things to occupy myself when we're not together. I almost didn't come today because I wanted to offer you a resting period from my last visit."

"Such a considerate boy..."

"Rogue, I must know more about you. Tell me about your family, your friends, where you live..."

"There's no need to worry about me." He kissed Sting's lips. "I can handle myself."

"I want to know you. What do you dream about? What was your mother like?"

"I don't know anything about you either. Tell me about your life."

So, Sting talked about growing up outside London. How he owned quite a few horses and went on hunting parties with his parental guardian and estate neighbours. Sting talked about his private tutor and how he was raised to take over the family company.

Rogue stopped listening after a while, massaging the sides of Sting's head, dragging his hands back and forth, running his fingers through his hair, rubbing his ears...

Sting relaxed his neck as he went on, the weight of his head rolling around with Rogue's hands. He took heavier blinks, his eyes half open.

The man just kept talking. At first it was convenient, but Rogue couldn't understand how anyone could have so much to say about themself. He stuck his tongue out and leaned into Sting's mouth as he kept talking. The aristocrat pressed his lips down on it a few times before realising what was happening.

"Oh, I do apologise. Are you trying to kiss me?" He puckered up for Rogue but the prostitute came away from him.

"What would you like to do?"

"Oh, all I want is to get to know you, Rogue. I find you so alluring. I must know more about you."

That was just his upbringing talking. Sting was nothing more than another horny client. "Why don't you tell me a little something? Where would you like me to touch you, Sting?"

"Just my heart." He smiled.

Rogue stared at him with a baffled eye.

"Open up to me, my dear Rogue." He took the prostitute's hands and held them against his chest. "Do share your secrets with me. I long to hear them. I long to know all about you. Please, Rogue?"

"S-stop!"

The aristocrat leaned back to give him some space, releasing Rogue's hands.

He coughed, "My little shadow. I know you like to be touched down here." He rubbed the man's trousers.

Sting tensed under his touch.

"Would you like me to help you out of those trousers?"

"Rogue, it has occurred to me that you know nothing beyond the brothel. Indeed, you must venture out and see the world. It's not healthy for a young man like yourself to keep inside a dark place all day."

He said quickly before Sting could leave. "I don't just work here, I make matchboxes!"

"Matchboxes? For smoking?"

"For lighting matches."

Sting smiled and got comfortable. "Tell me more, Rogue."

So, Rogue told Sting how to make matchboxes. How you first began with the bottom piece, taking a dab of adhesive to it, and stuck another piece against it. How this process continued until you made a box. Then you'd make another one, one similar to a drawer shape, and fit it inside the bigger box. The two would fit together so it would be able to slide open and shut, like a small dresser. The matches needed to all fit evenly inside or you'd made a mistake gluing the pieces together, and you'd have to take it apart and start all over.

"Rogue," he said with a wide smile.

"Yes?"

"Does this please you?"

He didn't know what to say. He'd never been put in this kind of situation. Aristocrats were whole other animals. "Y-yes..."

Sting gave a slight giggle, which made Rogue very uncomfortable.

Who was this guy? Why did he care so much about a whore? A slum whore, no less. Was he some kind of policeman? Someone undercover to take down Laxus's establishment from the inside?

"Sting, don't be so nice to me."

"Nonsense! You've showed me such bliss, I could only dream of beginning to repay you."

"You say you'd like to repay me?"

"Oh yes, more than anything."

"Don't ask me questions."

Sting pouted. "Oh, come now!"

"Let me touch you some more. Where would you like me to start?"

"Do you really like pleasuring me so much?"

"Of course, shadow. You're beautiful when you struggle below me."

Sting looked away as he blushed. "I quite enjoy your treatment."

"So then," he gripped the aristocrat's chin and forced Sting to look at him. "Where shall I start?"

That man was troublesome. He talked too much and he didn't understand his own feelings. Why was he visiting the whorehouse as often as he was? Did he really have nothing else to do? Didn't he have a wife to do that with? Maybe not. Maybe that was why he kept coming back. Wasn't he worried about disease?

Rogue walked through the market with another pound in his pocket, kneading it with a thumb. Where should he keep all this money? Not in the room, he didn't trust his living quarter mates that much. Not on his person, he could easily get mugged. Should he open a bank account? If he was going to adapt an independent way to life, he needed to start thinking about supporting himself. No more would he work for the group. He needed to begin working for Frosch and himself.

He'd asked round for the nearest bank and ended up walking completely out of the slum. He stood before the bank, a grand, white stone building, with carved images above the windows, and columns before the front door.

As he gawked up at it a constable stepped beside him from behind.

"Are we lost?"

Rogue looked at him. "Oh... No, sir..."

"Heading to the bank, are we?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are we in need of some assistance as well?"

Rogue gave a few deep nods in gratitude. "Yes, sir."

The constable led him inside, where thick desks lined the walls, metal cages rested round the top of each one, behind which stood various men in formal suits. It was a lot to take in all at once. There were people speaking to these men from the other side of the cages, on Rogue's side of the room. It was like these men were birds, trapped to do banker things.

Rogue was led to a man with a fat beard. The man watched him with distant eyes, seemingly looking straight through him.

The constable coughed.

"Yes," started Rogue. "I want to make a savings account."

The man inside glanced at the constable. "Who recommended you to us?"

"This is the closest bank to where I live, sir."

"What is the amount of which you'll be depositing?"

Rogue froze. Would they try to take his money from him? Would they not believe he'd earned it? Was this all a trap, why did the constable walk him inside? Rogue already felt out of place having left the slum. Maybe he should forget the whole thing and go home. He would find a place to store his money.

The constable said, "Speak up, boy."

"I-I have one p-pound."

"One pound..." The moustache man raised his brow, waiting for the proof.

Rogue flicked his eyes at the constable, wishing he would leave. "Yes. It's more than I've ever owned. So, I want to put it in the bank."

"Produce it." Said the moustache man.

Rogue took the money out of his pocket to show them, holding it close to his chest and gripping it tightly.

"Well, well..." The man turned round and brought back with him a thick book, one he'd retrieved from a lower shelf. "Name."

"Rogue Cheney."

The man opened the book to what seemed like a specific page. Then asked Rogue to spell it out as he scribbled. He then said, "Occupation."

Rogue put the coin back in his pocket. They would laugh at him if they knew where he worked. And he'd never received one pound from making matchboxes. They would grow suspicious or question him.

The constable said again, "Speak up, boy."

"Matchbox maker."

The man scribbled. "Employer?"

Would they contact his boss? Rogue tried not to think too much, lest the constable raise his voice again. "Elfman Strauss."

The man scribbled as Rogue spelt it out. "Address?"

Rogue hesitated, but told the man.

He then turned the book round and handed Rogue the pen. "Signature."

Rogue reached through the birdcage door and wrote his name on the line. Above his name, there were lots of other names with his same initials: R-C.

The man closed the book and put it back, bringing forth two other, lighter ones. He turned to the first pages. These ones were brand new. In each one, he wrote the date and how much was being put into the account.

Rogue was just glad he learned to spell. Otherwise this would've been a much more humiliating experience.

"Your deposit."

Rogue put the coin on the desk and slid it through the door. The man took it and looked it over, then took a stamp from his workspace and pressed the front page of one of the books. He closed them, and on the cover of one of them he wrote Rogue's name. On the other, the one with the stamp in it, he wrote something else. He pushed that book across the desk.

"This is your copy of your passbook. You'll need to bring this with you every visit. I've stamped my contact information for you inside."

Rogue took the book. "Thank you, sir."

"For future reference, you'll need to write me an appointment schedule in advance."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I'll remember."

"You'll need to keep up with a weekly deposit to keep your account open. You'll need to pay a fine to reopen your account if it closes."

"Yes, sir."

"Raise your right hand." He showed him.

Rogue raised his hand.

"I promise I have good intentions for opening a bank account."

Rogue repeated it.

"I'll go store your money now." He walked off with the other passbook and Rogue's pound. He put the book in a drawer of the tall storage cabinet, labelled R-C. Then he turned a large metal lock on the back door, and disappeared inside what Rogue presumed to be a safe.

Rogue waited for the man to return.

The constable put an arm round him and pulled him out of the building. "Come on, then."

Now Rogue had to worry about where to hide his passbook. Not on his person, it was too awkward, and his banker's information was stamped inside. Not in the room, a book was much bigger than a coin. It would be much easier to find now. This might've been worse than hiding the pound. Well, at least it was only information and not actual money. He wondered if his job offered him insurance, lest someone find his bank and break into the safe.

He couldn't go home until he'd hidden the passbook. He thought of places to hide it. Anywhere. Could he give it back? He had to. There was nowhere else to hide it. On his person would have to do until he could think of a better spot.

Rogue returned home late again. He didn't get a chance to buy his share of food for everyone because the market closed up. Both Sting and the bank were against him this time. The passbook was shoved down the back of his shirt, pressed up against the end of his spine. His vest hung straight down, covering the odd lump in his back. Any other day Rogue would complain about having a vest too big for him, but it was perfect for the time being.

"Fro waited for Rogue all day!"

"I'm sorry, Frosch. Busy day." He lifted the exceed from the dirty ground.

Minerva walked his way, hands on her hips. "Someone took a real shine to Frosch. Said he never saw better handiwork."

"Fro worked very hard."

Rogue smiled, "Good job, Frosch."

"Said it was the wickedest thing he ever did see."

"Not Frosch's handiwork."

"Aye, that."

"Well, what happened? Frosch, are you all right?"

"Fro is all right if Rogue is all right."

Minerva cocked her head. "Ye want Frosch back out tomorrow on the street with me, do ye?"

"Fro doesn't mind. Fro helps Minerva."

Rogue rubbed his face. "I don't want Frosch upstairs alone, but if people are going to make fun-"

"Just take Frosch to work with ye."

"Fro doesn't want to go to Rogue's work."

Rogue patted the exceed to calm Fosch down.

"Fro wants to keep shining shoes with Minerva. That man didn't hurt Fro's feelings!"

Rogue hugged his friend. "Frosch, thank you!"

Minerva hushed the both of them. "People are trying to get some shut eye round here. Ye know not everyone gets the bed, but with the both of ye screaming it won't matter whose sleeping on the floor."

Rogue went to the table after Minerva left them alone.

His friend whispered, "Fro wanted to wait for Rogue to come home before eating."

Rogue tried not to express his feelings too much, but he thanked his dear friend in a passionate tone under his breath. Though he told Frosch to eat with the rest of the group next time. Rogue didn't want his friend waiting up all night.

Oh, the exceed was such a blessing! Frosch put up with so much crap every day, but refused to let Rogue down. They were working together, in a sense. Rogue was so thankful for Frosch. As long as his dear friend could stand this lifestyle a bit longer, Rogue could work to get them both out of it.

First of all, if Rogue had to send a letter to his banker every time he wanted to deposit something, he'd spend a lot of money of postage. Not only that, but he'd have to hide his money until he could see the man. Maybe he could write out a schedule to meet every day during a specific time slot. Then Rogue wouldn't have to worry about overlapping with other customers, and he could walk straight into the bank without having to send a letter every time.

He just got out from work. Today he had a plan: He went to market to buy a loaf of bread, went home to feed everyone, told them he had to leave again, told Frosch not to worry and that he would be right back, and then went to Laxus's house.

Sting was already there, and talking to Lucy.

Rogue scurried across the room and latched onto the aristocrat's arm. "There you are!"

Lucy scowled at Rogue as she quickly took the man's other arm.

Sting smiled at him. "My dear, Rogue! I'm so glad the two of you are here today. It's so good that we can be here together."

Rogue tugged on him. "Come, let's go."

"Hold on a minute, Rogue. Lucy's agreed to accompany me into town. I know you'd prefer not to start a reputation, so I'll leave you be. But I do enjoy visiting you, Rogue. I'll come see you after I've brought Lucy back. That way, I can see both of you in one day."

Rogue shook his head. This was not going according to plan. "Don't be silly. You came to relax not go for a walk."

"Oh, I always like to go for a little stroll. Especially now that Lucy has agreed to come along." He turned away to share smiles with Lucy. "We shall see the shop windows, and the restaurants, and the attractions..."

She bounced, "Oh please, lets!"

"Then we're off!" Sting led her away and Rogue's grip fell from his arm. "I look forward to seeing you later, Rogue."

"All right." He stood alone as the two of them exited the house, eaten by the sunlight filling the alley.

This wasn't supposed to happen. How long would they be? Why was Lucy so excited to be paraded around in the city? Didn't she have any dignity at all? Everyone would know where she came from, and they would see her with Sting.

No matter. It was none of Rogue's business.

He waited all day, denying service again. Laxus encouraged him to take other clients in the meantime, but Rogue knew it was all small potatoes. Sting had the real money. He guessed if he acquired enough customers he could buy postage. Then he wouldn't need to break up a pound.

Rogue began taking men into the back, giving just enough of his service to get some money but keeping a steady flow into the closet.

The alley turned orange. It was getting later. Sting still hadn’t arrived back with Lucy. Rogue thought about going into market while sellers were still active. Sting would wait for him.

He journeyed into the street and looked for supplies to write a letter. Everything was so expensive. Vegetables, soaps, clothes... He looked away from the food carts. Eventually he spotted a vender of letter supplies.

Everything on the seller was surprisingly cheap. So cheap, in fact, Rogue didn’t need as many clients as he'd taken. He bought a blue stamp with the English queen on it for a penny, and an envelope and paper for three shillings one penny. He borrowed a bit of ink the seller provided, and wrote out his schedule for his banker. Every day he would drop by the same time he had his first visit. It seemed simple enough. Why would he need to send a letter every day? That would be too tedious.

So he sealed the letter in the envelope, and asked the man for additional instruction. He was told how to write the banker's address, using his passbook as a reference, how to write his own address, and where to put the stamp. Once that was all done, he paid another penny to send it. The man took the letter and dropped it into the post box behind him.

Rogue went back to Laxus's house, hoping the letter would reach his banker in time. He knew it would, the bank wasn't very far.

He waited for Sting to come back, but the man never did. It was dark out then, and Rogue would be late to eat with everyone again. He hoped Frosch had eaten something, probably not. He hurried home. This day hadn't gone the way he'd expected.

"Rogue," said Minerva. "It happened again."

"Fro didn't mind."

Rogue held his friend. "Not again. Why does he keep coming back?"

"Said giving beggars a few pennies brings good luck. Said it keeps people out of trouble."

Frosch said, "The man is just trying to be nice."

"Take Frosch to work with ye if you're bothered so."

"I respect Frosch's decision. This man, what does he look like?"

"He's got nice clothes. Smells like us though."

Rogue knew it couldn't have been Sting, but he just wanted to make sure. Needless to say, they didn't see very many people with money round the east end. Sting definitely didn't smell like them. It must've been some other prick bothering Frosch. He hated that his dear friend had to put up with strangers like this. But he truly did respect Frosch’s decision. He was truly thankful for Frosch’s understanding.

Lucy loitered around Rogue, probably because Sting would come in looking for the both of them.

She sighed. "He seemed quite interested in me. I think he may ask me to marry him."

"He's interested in whores. He asked to take me into town too."

"Oh." She turned away, slumping her shoulders.

"How much did he pay you?"

"Enough. I'll go again if he asks me."

Rogue wondered if she was earning more from going into town with him. Not that he would do anything about it. He wasn't that desperate.

When Sting came through the door, Lucy greeted him first. He greeted her with more excitement he'd ever shown Rogue. They talked for a moment before Sting look round for him.

"My dear, Rogue! I do apologise for yesterday!" He came over with Lucy round an arm. "The time ran away without us. I'm so ashamed to have kept you waiting. Today, I'll see you first before going out again with Lucy."

The woman mentioned, "But it looks like rain. We'll get caught in the downpour if we don't leave soon."

'Oh my," Sting looked to Rogue. "Well, what do you suggest?"

Lucy said, "Oh, let's go. I had so much fun with you. You're so clever, and amusing, and..."

Sting chuckled at all the praise and started moving towards the door. Lucy stepped ahead of him to lead him out, encouraging him to leave with her.

Rogue stood dumbfounded for a moment. What was happening? Was he fighting Lucy for Sting's attention? Should he try to win him back?

He chased after them and took Sting by the shoulder. "Where do you think you're going, lovely? To talk the poor girl's ear off? Come back to my room with me, I'll show you a better use for that mouth."

Lucy argued, "You can't be witty if your mouth is full. What you want is a nice walk. You love peering into intricate windows. Remember the one with the horses?"

Sting nodded and pulled against Rogue, who fought back. "You can have private seating to your own personal ride, right here. You'll love my custom fit saddle, once I've prepared you for it."

Lucy frowned at him, tying to think of something to say. "You don't want that oily residue left over. You can have fun while dry, before the rain that is."

"Or you can get wet. Sting, you loved popping yourself inside one of my more damp districts, didn't you?"

Sting nodded and pulled against Lucy, who said, "If you don't come with me now every district in London will be damp."

The aristocrat came to. "You know, this is a rather difficult decision. Is there no other way to see you two?"

Laxus waltzed into the conversation. "Pardon my intrusion, sir, but what is the trouble over here?"

"I cannot for the life of me decide whether to go on a stroll with Lucy or stay here with Rogue."

Laxus gave an instant answer. "Stay here. Anyway, it's about to rain."

Lucy huffed.

Laxus was only trying to make money. He couldn't do that if whores were taking clients away from the house.

"Oh, Lucy, I do apologise. Perhaps another day."

Laxus asked, "Why not stay here with her? That's what she's here for."

"Very true, my good sir, but I do wish I could offer more than just my sex to these lovely two. I want to know them. I want to show them outside the east end of London."

While Sting carried on dramatically about his dream, and while Lucy stared longingly into his eyes, Laxus and Rogue looked at one another in disbelief. They weren't sure if they should laugh, because the situation wasn't exactly funny; they weren't sure if they should feel upset, because it wasn't quite frustrating enough... What was going on? Why was there an aristocrat so far away from main London? There must've been plenty of nicer whorehouses. And why was this aristocrat set on taking the whores away from the slum? Was he looking for a wife? Was Lucy right all along?

Laxus tried turn Sting on to the regular use of the whorehouse, but the man wouldn't have it. After some disagreements round the group, Sting decided he'd come another day when it wasn't raining. He would hate to stay with Rogue and then not be able to take Lucy out. And he would hate to force Lucy into staying with him when she'd already agreed to leave with him. So, he decided neither of them would spend time with him that day.

Laxus proposed another idea. "Why don't you rent a room you can all talk in if you're so against having sex?"

"Oh, of course!" Sting took the prostitutes' hands. "Shall we sit and talk? We won't be able to get too intimate though, for Rogue will be having his way then. But if we're neither leaving nor removing our trousers, I should think we’d find the middle ground. Do the two of you find that agreeable?"

Lucy nodded, "Oh, yes!"

Well, Rogue wanted the money so he agreed as well.

The aristocrat bought them a room and the prostitutes walked him into the back hall. They all got comfortable in one of Laxus's larger spaces: An actual room. They sat round in a circle on the flat mattress, which was on the floor and took up most of the room. Sting smiled at them, removing his jacket and laying it down behind him.

Lucy got along with him effortlessly. The walk they took the other day must've brought the two of them closer. They had so much to talk about Rouge could hardly say anything. It was like working with Erza and Millianna.

By the end of their time together, Rogue learned more about Lucy than he'd ever wanted to know. Though it seemed she talked in circles, so really he still didn't know her at all. But that was normal. Rogue didn't feel too keen on telling Sting everything about his domestic life either. All they really talked about was aesthetics. Things that would satisfy Sting but keep him coming back. Things that aristocrats liked to know but were otherwise useless. Like what their favourite colours were, or what time of day they enjoyed best. Aristocrats were weird.

Rogue took his money to the bank. The man with the moustache told him he'd received the letter, but disagreed with the schedule. Rogue tried to explain how he had no other times to meet during the day. They discussed Rogue's situation at home, and how he had to hide his money from his roommates. If they were to meet at the end of each week, as the banker would've preferred, Rouge would have to hide his money every day until he could store it in the bank. If that were to happen, Rogue may as well not have a bank account, because he would need to be very good at hiding his money, and if that were the case he wouldn't have come to the bank anyway.

His explanation was all over the place but the banker did his best to understand, which Rogue was thankful for. They settled on a time during each day of the week so Rogue wouldn't have to take his money home. This designated time frame just so happened to be straight after he would finish with Sting. So as long as Lucy didn't interfere too much, Rogue could get Sting's money and be done for the day. He could return home before too late and eat with Frosch. He could also get a decent amount of sleep then.

With Rogue's most recent pound in the bank, he came home to Frosch and Minerva, both still up and waiting for him.

"The man's got a god eye on Frosch," she said.

"Fro doesn't mind. Fro likes shining shoes with Minerva."

Rogue sighed at the whole thing: Trying to smuggle away money, putting up with work, practically forcing Frosch to put up with that man... The whole thing. His and Frosch's life basically.

The next day at work, Elfman came round to talk to him as he piled more papers onto the assembly table.

"Congratulations," he said. "I hear you've opened a bank account."

Rogue blushed with all the women listening in. What would they think? Would they question what sort of money he had?

"You're headed in the right direction. You're starting to think like a man."

Rogue looked up at him. "Thank you, sir."

Erza gave him a proud smile as Rogue pushed the wheelbarrow off. He would've liked not to cause a scene. As he walked down the aisle of women, their backs turned to him while they sorted through papers, he reminded himself he didn't need to tell anyone anything. If they asked about his money it wasn't mandatory that Rogue tell them, even if they were friends. As long as he could keep a secret, nobody would ever find out about any of it.

Rogue bought some bread and took it home. He shared a quick moment with Frosch for moral support and then headed for the whorehouse. He loved his dear friend so much. This was all for Frosch. When this was all done, he'd buy them their own house. He'd get an education. He'd get a better paying job that he could bring Frosch along to.

Lucy couldn't stop talking about the aristocrat. The two of them were really hitting it off. When Sting arrived, he tried to take Lucy out to the city again, but Rogue urged him to stay and have sex with him first. Lucy didn't like that idea. She thought it would take too much out of the aristocrat, and that he wouldn't be fit enough to take a stroll after that.

Sting wanted to go with Lucy. He thought her idea of spending the daytime wisely and taking a walk first was only logical. And after taking a walk he could come back to Rogue, and he would be ready to relax by then.

Rogue wouldn't have it: He wouldn't get to the bank on time, and that would ruin the rest of his day's schedule. He talked Sting into staying and having sex first, but he was already set on leaving with Lucy. They fought long enough that Laxus got involved, and it became he and Rogue against Sting and Lucy.

The argument only went downhill, and everyone became too upset for Sting's liking. He decided he'd leave and think up a new plan before ever returning again if this was going to happen every visit. Laxus tried to get him to rent a room so they could all talk about it in private, but Sting had made up his mind. That is, until Lucy bribed him into doing it for her. Just for her.

Sting finally agreed and they went to the back room again.

"I'm quite beside myself, you two. How are we to spend any more time together if we're always fighting?"

Lucy said, "Taking a walk before having sex makes most sense. You wouldn't want to get up all shaky and join society after being ravaged by Rogue, would you?"

_Ravaged..._ Were they talking shit about one another now? Two could play at that:

Rogue said, "Sex will loosen you up. You walked all the way here to pick Lucy up. You might as well spend some time here before you leave again. We wouldn't want you spending too much time on your feet. Think about all the stress you'll be putting on you body. Not to mention your shoes."

Lucy shook her head at the aristocrat. "You wouldn't want to freshen yourself up again. You already did that before leaving the house. Wouldn't it be better if you waited to take your clothes off at the end of the day?"

Sting couldn't take his eyes off Lucy. "That's just was I thought. It would only be logical to take you out first before lodging here with Rogue. I do like both of you, but I also like to do the most rational thing. Why would I be intimate with someone before leaving for a public stroll?"

Lucy shared smiles with him, and Rogue couldn't help but feel the aristocrat chose a favourite. Rogue made it clear that after a certain time of day he would be unavailable. It only made things more complicated. Because Sting was so set on taking Lucy first, he began planning faster trips. Walks that would bring them back to the whorehouse faster so he could spend time with both of them. This was all ruining Rogue's initial plan.

The same thing happened the next day. Rogue argued with Lucy about when to take Sting. By then, it turned into something much like a contest: Who would win Sting over? Rogue could already tell there wasn't going to be much of a fight. The aristocrat liked Lucy too much.

He thought about forcing Sting into the closet, but he didn't want to resort to that. He would have to get the aristocrat to like him again. It was so much easier when Lucy wasn't around.

When Sting came, Rogue tried his best to encourage him to stay, but Lucy was so much better at it. It was almost like they had their own language that Rogue couldn't get a hold of. Maybe if he just swallowed his pride and left with them? He really didn't want to, and sex was so much more familiar to him. You never had to worry about navigating the streets, or what you looked like, or what others were thinking of your clothes or your walk, and you certainly never had to worry about manners or holding yourself like a respectable human being. No, he couldn't stand taking walks. Not in uppity London. He was stuck it seemed.

Well, Rogue had three pounds in the bank. That was an unthinkable amount of money. He couldn't believe he'd saved up even one pound. Sometimes it made him uneasy and he couldn't sleep at night. Owning so much money was uncomfortable. It made him feel guilty. Like he stole it or something. He had to remind himself that he'd earned it fairly. He had every right to own that money.

But it wasn't enough.

If he was going to get Frosch out of the slum, he needed to earn at least five or six pounds to buy a house and get an education.

Every day he'd go to work, buy bread, wait around for Sting only to be stood up, go home to Frosch for the day, sleep to wake up again...

The man kept bothering Frosch and Minerva at the doorstep. Except the things he'd say were turning from smug to considerate, which was better. Upper class or not, nobody could talk to Frosch with such disrespect. So, things were getting better at home. Aside from that, the living quarter group got themselves out of debt again. They stuck together like no other group before.

Because things were going so well, Rogue gained enough nerve to wait around the whorehouse for Sting and Lucy. Summer was coming, so it stayed lighter longer, and it was getting hotter. This took some weight off Rogue's mind: Now Frosch wouldn't have to wait up for him in the dark, and they wouldn't freeze overnight with what thin blankets hey had.

Rogue and Sting finally had a chance to see each other again, and Rogue added another coin to his savings. He was glad his banker was still there, but the man reminded him of their schedule, quite inconvenienced by Rogue's tardiness. Rogue wondered if staying late was the best idea, even if that was the only time Sting would see him. Well, if he couldn't see Sting what was the point of going to the bank? He supposed this was his only option. He could stomach his banker's complaints. Just how he stomached Elfman's.

If Frosch could be strong and stay home, shining shoes and putting up with some guy's talk, Rogue could be strong and do whatever it takes to get more money.

Shuffling through papers to find the last side to his matchbox, Rogue listened to Erza's spiel about working to the best of their abilities. She was replying to Millianna's complaint about the workload.

"It is hard," Erza agreed. "But we've gotten rather good at it, haven't we?"

"I suppose. I do wish we got better pay for all we do. We arrive before dawn and we work until dusk. We should be able to afford more than a few groceries."

"I agree. I can't even save money; we're only given enough to pay for one day's rations. Some nights I go without eating to pay the debt on my house."

Millianna asked, "How many others live in your quarter?"

"Right now there are five of us. Some of the others have impressive trade skills, like sewing, and they bring home much more than I do. It's shameful that I'm unable to provide for my quarter like they can. But this is the best I can do."

"I'm in your same position: There I'm one of eight in my living quarter. We share our two beds by splitting the group in half. I feel guilty every night knowing I make a fraction of what the others do, yet I lay beside them as though I'm just as deserving." She started a lighter tone, "What about you, Rogue?"

He said, "I live with eight other people. Only four of us sleep on the bed. We don't feel bad for those who're worse off, we motivate them to work harder."

Erza nodded, "That's right."

"Rogue," Millianna asked, "What money do you put in the bank? You're not working two jobs, are you? That sounds awful."

He came up with a quick story. "I save money for my living quarter group. The others pay for rent and groceries."

Erza said, "That sounds like a plan."

The two women carried the conversation along to a different topic and Rogue could relax again. He didn't think convincing them of anything would be so easy. That was not to say he wasn't grateful for it.

At the whorehouse, Rogue fiddled with his friendship ring, twisting it round his finger so the moral support would activate. He waited for Sting to bring Lucy back. Why couldn't aristocrats just settle for sex? Why did they feel the need to bring people with them around the city? If Sting wasn't so prissy about it, he could have Lucy and Rogue in a room respectively within a couple of hours. But he had to show Lucy the town, which took a couple of hours in itself. No matter, as long as the banker would take Rogue's money.

Sting came back eventually, all dreamy eyed with Lucy's arm round his. They looked like how Rogue would imagine a couple on their honeymoon, except Rogue would be getting Sting's sex.

He led the aristocrat to their usual room, but now that Sting knew there was a mattress in the larger room he wanted to use that space instead.

Rogue crawled on top of him as the man asked, "What ever did happen about that east end London murder?"

"I don't bother myself with the newspaper."

"But it happened right here. Doesn't that bother you? Don't you worry for your wellbeing?"

"I've got too much to worry about already."

"You see, Rogue, this is exactly why we must talk more. I still know next to nothing about you."

"We could if you'd have sex with me before going out with Lucy. I can't stay and wait for you all night, you know."

"Oh, I know. Our predicament is simply too cruel. I wish I could take you both out on a pleasant stroll, but you insist on hiding yourself away."

"I don't feel comfortable leaving the slum."

"And that's just the trouble. Though, I don't blame you, Rogue. I know there are many sots of people, and with that comes different sorts of familiarities. Lucy seems to quite enjoy herself when she accompanies me."

"Lucy's not here. You're on my time now."

"Oh, of course. Here I am rambling on about something you're not interested in when I should be focusing on you."

Nothing Sting said was ever interesting to Rogue.

"How are you tonight, my dear?"

"I 'm hungry for my shadow."

Sting blushed. "I've forgotten how much your words strike me. They're like poison, if I recall..."

Rogue dragged his fingers down the aristocrat's bare chest, pushing into the soft skin. He positioned his hands at Sting's collar to repeat the process. Slowly he tipped his fingertips down, tracing his nails along Sting's pecks to his hipbones. After a few more rounds of this, he concentrated the procedure to Sting's lower regions, dragging his nails from the man's navel to the sides of his balls.

Sting's thighs shook at the sudden change of attention. Did he expect Rogue to continue travelling the entire length of his torso forever? When would they ever go home?

The prostitute concentrated his procedure further, scrubbing his nails beside Sting's balls, his fingers brushing up against them.

"Rogue, what should I do? How can I make this experience unforgettable for you the same way I've made Lucy's for her?"

He stared at the dick before him in annoyance. "You don't have to do anything. Just relax and let me do all the work."

"If you insist. I should like to perform something on you, if you'd allow. I'd hate for you to wait all evening for me just to make me feel better. I should prefer an alternative situation in which you wait for me to make you feel better."

"Don't be ridiculous. You just came back from your walk. You must be so tired." He crawled closer to Sting's face.

Meanwhile, the man sat up. "Quite, though I still would like to help you feel-"

Rogue kissed him, and then Sting pulled away to continue.

"To help you feel as wonderful-"

Rogued kissed him again to try and convince him to stop talking. But Sting pulled away again.

"Feel as wonderful as you make me feel."

Rogue could hardly stand it. He put his frustration into better making out with the aristocrat, licking him straight across the mouth to the tip of his nose.

The latter bit put Sting in a slight shock, and this gave Rogue the opportunity to slick his tongue into the aristocrat's mouth. Sting tried to move his tongue as well this time, copying Rogue's movements. Rogue wished the man would just take it easy. He wasn't expecting anything from Sting. Rogue new the man wasn't going to be very skilled at this sort of thing. Sting didn't need to try to be.

Rogue kissed off him. "Just relax."

"I want to pleasure you as well. What shall I do? Would you like me to touch your penis?"

Rogue took the man's approaching hands. "That won't be necessary. Please, shadow, I don't expect you to do anything but lie beneath me."

"But I want to pleasure you." He smiled into Rogue's lips. "Please let me."

Rogue rolled his eyes.

"May I touch you?"

"Of course." Was what he said. _You can try_ was what he wanted to say.

Sting wrapped himself round the prostitute, holding his naked body against Rogue's clothed one. Suddenly, Rogue remembered why they shouldn't do that.

"Don't!" He freed himself from the embrace. Then he thought quickly, "Y-you can only touch me from the waist down."

Sting held his hands as if to scold them. "Oh, right, of course. I do apologise. I didn't mean to-"

"Stop apologising."

"Right." He turned his attention to Rogue's bare legs. "So then. I can't say I've done this before."

Rogue stared at the man in awe.

He looked up at Rogue. "What is it? Is that so hard to believe?"

"But you have one."

"That doesn't imply I spend time dwelling on the function of it."

Rogue squinted at him. "Are you human? What are you, Sting? You're only a few ranks above me but we're two different species, aren't we?"

"Well, people of high society aren't exactly encouraged to fondle ourselves. We see the act as being quite vulgar, even immoral."

"It's no wonder you show up here so often."

Sting blushed. "It's not because I'm deprived that I visit, it was first the experience, then coming to visit the two of you. I was actually drawn to the east end of London by the murder in the newspaper."

"That's why you want to take me out? Because you'd rather talk with me than have sex?"

"I like your sex. It just wasn't my first intention upon arriving to the brothel. I actually didn't realise it was a brothel until I met Lucy."

"You've never seen a brothel... Don't they have them out of the slum?"

"I wouldn't know," said Sting. "I don't live in London. I'm renting an apartment so I can gather a bit of inspiration."

"You really have nothing else to do?"

Sting raised his shoulders. "Nothing at all. Not at the moment."

Rogue grew envious of the aristocrat. Before, Sting was just another way of getting money. But now that Rogue was learning more about him, the aristocrat was becoming less and less tolerable. He talked too much, he was rich, he didn't have anything else to do all day, he'd been sheltered from the working class, he didn't know anything other than how to be respectable... He was just a prissy rich man.

The aristocrat put a hand on Rogue's member. "Is this all right?"

Rogue failed to keep the grumble out of his voice. "It's fine."

While the aristocrat fondled him and chatted up another storm, Rogue looked at his friendship ring. If Frosch could be strong so could he. Rogue could have sex with this prick, even if Sting was the living embodiment of his dream: The man could buy anything he wanted, he had all the time in the world, he didn't even live in London. That was the life for Frosch and Rogue.

"I'm not sure this is doing anything for you." Sting admitted as he pumped Rogue's dick.

The prostitute looked down at their legs, their dicks waving at each other. He held onto Sting's and showed the man how to give a proper hand job.

"How long have you been a prostitute, Rogue? You're very good at what you do."

"A long time."

"You're also a matchbox maker, aren't you?"

"Don't memorise everything I tell you."

Sting looked away with a small pout. "I see you're still shy about letting me get to know you.

"We don't need to know each other. Clients usually don't talk."

"Oh." He thumbed the head of Rogue's member as the prostitute was doing to his. He caught a glimpse at Rogue's makeshift jewellery. "What's that, a ring?"

Rogue pulled his hand away, replacing it with his other hand. "Don't look at that."

"Please, Rogue, you don't tell me anything!"

"I don't want to talk to you!" He instantly regretted saying that. What if the aristocrat started not liking him back, and all of his money went to Lucy? As a first instinct, he pushed Sting onto his back. "I-I want to pleasure you!"

His mouth came down on Sting's dick, pushing it to the back of his throat. The aristocrat whimpered in slight terror, probably from being pushed. Rogue worked fast and hard to keep the aristocrat occupied. The last thing he wanted was for Sting to start talking again. About anything. He sucked the man's brains out just to get him to forget everything that'd just happened.

With one or two pounds left to go, Rogue went home for the night. The sky was clear from what he could see passed all the tightly knit buildings. Some low matted clouds floated round from the factories down the street a ways. He worked up a sweat trying to hurry along the cobblestone in the heat.

Minerva stayed awake with Frosch until Rogue came home, not only for the exceed's sake, but probably because it gave her an excuse not to sleep. Either way, she never minded.

The room was muggy without a breeze. It made the stink of the wallpaper worse. And with everyone laying about sweating, the room filled with all kinds of smells. It was a good thing they couldn't afford much food. Everyone was stripped down to one layer.

Rogue laid at the end of the bed stuck in his long sleeved shirt and vest, one of his roommates glued to his side. He was afraid that if he removed any of his clothes the passbook would free itself, or at least make itself more apparent. So, he left everything alone.

He'd gotten used to sleeping on his stomach because of the passbook. He didn't move too much in his sleep; there was no room to. Frosch journeyed around quite a bit though. From against his neck, to between his legs, to across his stomach, to over his face. Ever since the passbook, the exceed was told not to sleep on Rogue's back. He convinced his friend that he'd developed a pain from work. Frosch understood and had been sleeping anywhere but ever since.

That night, Frosch couldn't sleep. The exceed draped off the side of Rogue's head, staring down at the floor, paws running down Rogue's face.

"Frosch, what's wrong? It's not that man, is it?"

"No."

They lied quiet for a while until his friend spoke again.

"Rogue will leave soon. So Fro will stay up and be with Rogue longer."

"Frosch, you need to sleep. What about shoe shining Tomorrow?"

They lied quiet again.

Rogue put a hand on his dear friend, holding their heads together.

Elfman walked beside him as Rogue wheeled more paper down the aisle. He explained how he could send Rogue off to another company for a small sum of money, and that it would be a better job, one that pays more and involves real men's work. Rogue declined the offer, especially if it was going to cost him.

"You don't want a man's job? You want to work here, shaming yourself your whole life?"

"I don't have very much money to spend."

"I didn't expect you to pay me in full. You can just pay me a little every week until it's done."

"Thank you, sir, but I like my job."

"You don't want to know your full potential as a man? Working with heavy machinery, building up this country, making real money... That's where we belong."

"No thank you, sir."

"What's the matter with you? Are you pigeon livered?"

"No, sir."

"Have you got knickers on?"

Rogue stopped and turned to the man. "I've worked with heavy machinery before, sir. The reason I make matchboxes is to avoid worse injury. I nearly lost my head under a machine, and I have a family to take care of."

His boss stayed behind as Rogue pushed the papers to the end of the table.

Rogue was one of the lucky ones who escaped working at the cotton mill. It was a wet floored place with loud, fast moving machinery. The workers stood in a line monitoring how each of their designated spools filled with string. Elsewhere in the mill, workers helped machines turn cotton into yarn, which was then put into the machine where Rogue was stationed, the spool making machine. Everything was clockwork, and it all had to match up and run smoothly. Once all of a person's designated spools were wound, they turned off their section of the machine. This continued until all the spools were full and all of the individual machines were off. At which time, the manager at the end of the line rotated the full spools for empty ones, which was activated by a single lever and the machine did the rest of the work. From what Rogue could see from his station, the full spools were taken under the machine to the other line of workers on the other side of it, and new spools were brought into place on a wheel below the machine. The workers on the other side were in charge of cutting the string and removing the spools before the machine took them back to the other side.

Sometimes the loose strings would jam the gears, and workers had to crawl under the machine to get them straightened out or removed all together. This happened regularly, and each worker was responsible for their designated machine. One day, some of Rogue's string got caught with his neighbour's machine, and they both journeyed below to get the situation cleared up. They worked for so long that it came time to rotate spools. The gears turned and the full spools came down to rotate with the empty ones. The heavy metal pushed Rogue and his neighbour down to the floor. They crawled backward as fast they could to get out from under it.

Rogue had one side of his face crushing against the wet tile but the machine kept pushing down. It all happened so fast. All the noise stopped, he couldn't feel anything either, not his emotions, nor the cold against his face... The only thing on his mind was to get out before he was killed. He managed to pull his head out on time, but when he turned to his neighbour he was shocked to find the man had lost an arm. It wasn't long after that when Rouge found he'd been sliced through the nose. If he'd been any farther under, the machine would've gone through his skull.

He instantly thought of Frosch. He thought about how he needed to stay safe for his dear friend. If he were to die, who would provide for and be there for Frosch? The experienced frightened him so much that he began working a much blander job. And thus was the tale of why Rogue was the oldest man on the assembly.

At the whorehouse, Lucy was on about falling in love with the aristocrat again. What a bunch of rubbish. Both Lucy and Sting were caught up in this dream of having found one another by fate and needing each other to live when it was all just deprivation: Lucy could never get a man and so was addicted to all the attention, and Sting could never get any real intimacy and so was addicted to sex and strolls.

Rogue knew better. He saw through the both of them. In any case, he was only there for Sting's money. He didn't much care what the other two were doing together. Much less that they thought they were in love.

The two of them returned and Lucy handed the aristocrat off to Rogue.

"I've never felt so happy." He hung on the dark haired prostitute's arm.

Rogue helped the man pay for his room and oil and took him back.

"I wish I could make you feel the same way you and Lucy make me feel. Oh do let me try, Rogue. Last visit you took authority once again."

The prostitute stared at him from across the mattress, a tired look about him. He wasn't only physically exhausted; keeping up an optimistic mind-set always took a lot out of him, especially because his end goal was so unrealistic. He supposed having met the aristocrat was a blessing: Now at least he had a better chance at making some money.

He kept watching the man, pretending to listen, as Sting complained about wanting to pleasure him or something like that. Once the man quieted down and scooted closer, staring into his eyes like a prissy child, Rogue came out of his stupor.

"If it pleases you."

Sting wasted no time leaning in to kiss him.

They sucked each other's lips for quite a while. The only sound became the clicks of their mouths breaking away time and again. Rogue sat slouched into Sting, going along with what the man wanted. It was weird that the aristocrat wanted only to kiss him, and not even with his tongue. All of Rogue's other clients always wanted to use their tongue. What was happening at the moment was unnatural... It was weird... It kept Sting from expressing how much he cared for him though.

Rogue admitted the change was nice: Meeting someone unordinary who happened to have a lot of money. It added a bit more flavour to his repetitive lifestyle. The drawbacks were difficult to overlook however: Putting up with Sting's talking, waiting for Lucy to bring him back so Rogue could make it to the bank on time, making Frosch wait for him... Rogue tried to envision his goal for moral support, but he was so tired. He'd been dreaming of taking Frosch out of the slum for years. In the back of his mind he always knew he'd never be able to. Now that he was earning some real money, and the chances of him actually reaching his end goal were in his favour, he just wanted it to happen already. He was so fed up with waiting. A person can only be strong for so long. He knew Frosch didn't care about the circumstances as long as they were together, but Rogue wanted a better life for his dear friend. Frosch deserved so much more than Rogue could offer.

"Rogue," the man sighed.

Coming back to reality, Rogue found himself kissing the man even after Sting had stopped. He pulled back and waited for the aristocrat to do something more.

"I am so intrigued by you. I wish you and I could talk like friends the way Lucy and I do. Are we not friends, Rogue?"

The prostitute blinked. "You want us to be friends now?"

"Oh," he looked down. "I suppose I have put this upon you myself, haven't I? I'm only wasting your time like this."

Rogue didn't like where this was going. He shook his head wildly as Sting looked up at him again.

"Forgive me, but I feel rather embarrassed." Sting smiled.

"You're not a waste of my time. I quite like our visits."

"Oh, but you never want to talk to me, and you've said you can't wait for me all day." He started a firm tone, "You know, I shouldn't trouble you any further. I might've known something like this was bound to happen. Concerning myself with unfamiliar classes, what did I expect?"

"No, no! I want you to stay. Tell me more about your-"

"You have things to attend to, don't you? You have work, chores, a family..."

"No," Rogue put his hands on either side of the aristocrat's face. "Our time together is our own. Don't think about anyone else when you're with me."

"It would pain me to keep you any longer. You've told me you need to be somewhere. I do apologise for always keeping Lucy too long."

"Stop apologising."

"Oh, that's right." He avoided eye contact. "Well, I see no other reason for you to spend any more time with me. I understand slum dwellers, as Lucy calls herself, have many domestic matters to tend to."

"You've got it all wrong. I'm here because I want to see you."

"Rogue, you and I both know my visits are strictly materialistic."

"No, my shadow. I care for you... I want to be with you always... The reason I can't stand to wait for you isn't because I need to be somewhere else, but because I need to see you: I long for your return: I need to hold you in my arms."

He looked at the prostitute. "Rogue, why haven't you told me this before?"

"B-because I didn't want to seem desperate like Lucy. I see other whores who're turned down for being so easily won. I had to do whatever I could to keep you interested in coming back, you see?"

"My dear Rogue, could this be true?"

He took his hands away to hide behind them. "Now I've told you too much."

"Of course not!" Sting grabbed the prostitute's wrists and looked him in the eye. "You've just told me everything I've ever needed to know. Your work will not go to waste; I dare say we'll continue seeing each other. Our time together will be filled with passion, I will be here for you, I shall offer myself to you, Rogue."

As the aristocrat kept going, Rogue congratulated himself for turning that around. He almost lost his prime source of income. Then where would he be?

He almost had enough money now to buy his own house. Rogue looked through the papers to find places for sale. Places outside the slum. He didn't want to rent either; he wanted his own house. One he could do with what he wanted.

He then thought about education. Would it be wise to buy a house first or should be invest in some proper education? Then he could get a better paying job. One that wasn't so tedious as making matchboxes and not so dangerous as the cotton mill. He preferred to do something that didn't involve too much labour, but he didn't see himself ever being so lucky. He would have to make due with whatever he could get.

Rogue searched the papers for job openings. Things closer to the heart of London and nowhere near the east end. He found calls for waiters, custodians, and desk managers, jobs for the higher of society who kept up appearances. Rogue wondered if he could keep up an appearance. If he could fool people into believing he too was one of the upper class. He supposed if he had the education and housing he would very well be one of the upper class.

So, he decided he would need an education first, then with the skills he learned he would apply for one of the jobs in central London, and then of course he would need a house nearby. So, depending where he worked he would buy the closest affordable house.

"Ye don't work with oil in that factory, do ye Rogue?" Minerva sat in the chair beside him at the table. "How are ye coming home smelling like oil?"

Rogue shrugged and continued eating his slice of bread.

"Maybe it's time ye took interest in a bit of clean water."

"It was raining the other day."

"Ye don't smell any better."

"Fro thinks Rogue smells like a flower." The exceed sat on the table.

Minerva mocked, "Yeh, like a ripe fly-inviting flower. We may be poor but we're not animals."

Rogue nodded. It would be better for everyone if he washed up a bit. Especially for the aristocrat, who probably never went a day without bathing in his life.

After running some more bread home, Rogue visited the public rinsing spot, which was a pump in the street managed by local constables. Water was recycled through the iron grate below the pump, and limited just a few pumps a person. Soap was supplied, which was convenient because Rogue never invested in any.

He stripped before the two constables and rinsed himself with as much soap as possible, hoping he could scrub off all the built up layers of grime since his last wash. Others in line watched him with nothing better to do, but this was no time to feel self-conscious: First of all the water was limited, and they were all experiencing the same thing. They were all too poor to own their own plumbing, they all had to strip naked in the street in front of policemen, and they were all just trying to survive. This was what made public rinsing spots a social activity. Mostly just acknowledging that there were others like you, and that you were not alone in wishing there could be more for you and your family.

It was just a bit of culture. Rogue didn't really care all that much about other people. He knew the only people who truly cared about him were at home, with the exception of Sting who cared about the idea of him.

Rogue and Sting were strangers. They always would be. No matter how hard the aristocrat loved him, Rogue would never be anything more than an _experience_ to Sting. And no matter how intimate the prostitute became, Sting would always be a source of money to Rogue.

How did he get to thinking about this? Wasn't he just thinking about public rinses?

He traced his thoughts back to find how he'd derailed himself. Sting, people caring about him, community, rinses... Yeah, that sounded right. He supposed all these topics were related. Of course his mind would lead him this direction. He thought he'd gone on a tangent just then.

"Ah!" Sting tried to grip the mattress, half his face buried in it.

"Such a good boy." Rogue pounded into him, holding the aristocrat's hips.

Sting’s legs trembled against the man, trying to push against Rogue’s thrusts.

“Would you spread your legs wider for me?”

Sting did as he was told, lowering his stomach to the mattress.

The prostitute kept one hand on his client’s back as he leaned forward, balancing his weight as his other hand landed by Sting’s face.

“Ro-Rogue..!”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” tears and sweat puddled under his face.

“You’ve been waiting for it, haven’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Your body craves it. This hour in which we meet has enslaved you like the oncoming night has the sun.”

Sting panted as the prostitute continued at a slower pace, taking his time to push his client over the edge.

“Are you my dying light, Sting?”

His client grunted with a hard thrust.

“There now…”

Another hard thrust.

“Do you surrender to the dark?”

Yet another hard thrust.

“Sting…”

His client gasped before briefly crying out. A faint sound of ecstasy smothered by the intense sensation by which it was brought.

Rogue carried him through his orgasm, quickly coming inside his client soon after. He’d been holding off for the proper moment, not exactly enjoying this or anything… And with so much experience in the field, Rogue knew just what do do to force himself over.

After a final thrust, Rogue pulled out and left his exhausted client to slump over before him. He then bent over further to reach Sting’s mouth, kissing his client in the same slow manner.

“Rogue,” he moaned between kisses, sucking the prostitute’s lips in return. “Yes, I do surrender… You are the night that swallows me with an embrace I cannot refuse… I long to see you… There isn’t one moment I’m not thinking of you…”

“My dear companion, I too dream of seeing you again the moment we part.”

Sting rolled onto his back to hold the prostitute in his arms. “Please let me stay with you… Please take me from my life… I am yours…”

“We cannot fall prey to our emotions, Sting. You know the two of us will never-“

“Please, Rogue…”

The man’s voice was so sincere in that moment Rogue fell into a state of shock. As if he’d left his body for the purpose of making sense of the matter. It felt as if time had stopped. As if Sting became a mannequin against him, lifeless until the moment Rogue knew what to say next.

What was this feeling? Of course it was a form of love, but what was the meaning of it? Why was Rogue feeling love for this stranger?

Sting was desperate and dull. Not to mention he was a completely different breed of human. His class, education, mannerisms… They were foreign to Rogue’s kind. The two of them would never make sense. They would never be together. So why was Rogue allowing himself to fall in love with the man? He hadn’t felt this way before Sting’s latest remark. Maybe it was the way the man sounded so sincere, so sure of himself and his decision. Sting obviously felt an honest love for Rogue. Perhaps that was why Rogue felt the way he did: Simply because the feeling was being projected onto him.

This was scary. Rogue couldn’t keep Sting. The man would shrivel up and die in the slum life. He needed to get Sting out of there. They shouldn’t see each other any more. Their appointments were becoming more and more informal, and it was uncomfortable.

He didn’t love Sting. This feeling wasn’t love in the sense that he wanted to be with Sting forever. Rather, it was love in the sense that Rogue felt sorry for the man. Sting wanted so much to be with him, but the truth of the matter was that dream would never be anything more than a fantasy. It was regret that Rogue felt… Pity, empathy, sorry for the man…

“Sting, we can’t go on like this.”

“No,” the man held him tighter. “Don’t say things like that…”

“We need to go back to being client and prostitute, nothing more, for your and my sake.”

“I don’t care where the future leads. I want to be here… With you…”

Rogue attempted to pry himself from the aristocrat. “You’re only being dramatic.”

“You’ve put the idea in my head and now it’s stuck: I am your shadow. I am caught beneath you as the night looms overhead. I am the sun that bows to your darkness. I am your shadow. I am yours.”

Rogue finally pulled away and crawled off the mattress. It wasn’t too long after when Sting forced himself to a seated position, still languid from the recent activity.

“Rogue.”

The prostitute started dressing himself.

“I won’t give you your payment until we settle this.”

Rogue stared across the way at his slippery client, half glaring and half scared out of his mind.

“Come here.”

Rogue undressed again and crawled back over to the aristocrat.

“Stay overnight with me, won’t you?”

“I can’t.” He practically begged, “I need to get home.”

“Why won’t you take me? Take me with you.”

Rogue didn’t have to stand for this. Rogue was stronger than the aristocrat. He may not have had any true power over the man, but he was certainly stronger willed. Growing up in the slum wasn’t for pushovers. And he’d encountered meaner guests than Sting. After a quick pep talk, Rogue brought himself back to a state of control over the situation, using talk from passed experiences: smooth and sex-oriented. This whore to client relationship wasn’t about social ranking, or status, or even dominance; it was about sex. It was always about sex. Rogue would direct the conversation back to a topic he knew. He could be just as slippery.

The prostitute whispered in Sting’s face, “I have taken you. Could it be you’d like me to woo you again?”

“As much as I’d like that instead, what I want is to join you in your slums.”

“You’ve already paid for this bed. And it was quite an expense too, wasn’t it? Come, let us hold each other right where we are.”

“Enough,” Sting turned away. “I want a straight answer.”

“What on earth was that, just then?” The prostitute took Sting’s jaw and forced the man to look at him. “For a moment it looked as if my shadow was disobeying me.”

“Oh, stop your babbling! Just stop!” Sting shoved the prostitute off him. “I can’t take your words of poison. You know me too well for a decent conversation. It seems the only way I’m getting to you is through your reward.”

Rogue saw his plan falling apart in front of him.

“That’s it. I’m not paying you this round.”

Sure enough, just like that it was all over. However, now Rogue was angry. He was through putting up with this impossible man.

The prostitute growled, “You can’t do that! I worked for that money! Have you any idea what my family goes through every day?”

Sting held his ground nonetheless. “You’re using your family against me? Will you now tell me about yourself, Rogue? I still know next to nothing about you, yet you told me you were my friend. Am I not your friend, my looming night?”

“Are you mocking me? And after I took time out of my schedule to see you?” Rogue quickly reeled himself in from where he was headed, and instead called upon some old material from an earlier visit: “I care about you, Sting! I care about you more than you know, but your too stupid! You’re just so bloody stupid!”

“Then take me with you, Rogue! Invite me to your life-“

“You wouldn’t stand a chance in my life! I won’t bear to think of it! Go home! Go back home to your fancy mansion in the country! Go back to your family!”

“I can’t breathe!” Sting threw himself onto the mattress, practically onto Rogue’s lap. “This is all to much! It is! Just take me with you! I won’t live another day without your presence throughout it!”

“You’ve got Lucy, haven’t you? Take her! You don’t need my constant supervision like a damn child.”

“This can’t be the end! It just can’t! This is entirely your fault, you know!”

“How in the world is this my fault? You’re the one who won’t leave! Just give me what I worked for!”

Bounding into the room came Laxus, quite upset with the two of them. “Would you kindly quiet down in here? I’ve received numerous complaints already.”

The other two shut their mouths in an instant.

“Do you insist on arguing any further? Would you take it somewhere else?” With that, Laxus left through the door just as quick as he entered.

Sting sat panting. After a moment or two, he spoke up again. “I want to reward you, believe me, I do.”

“Then do so!”

“I can’t! I fear the very moment I hand it over I shan’t see you ever again!”

“Grow up, Sting!” He waited for the man to quit sobbing before continuing. “We can do this again tomorrow, just as always. Nothing has changed. But if I don’t get paid, how can I trust you as my regular? How do I know you won’t cheat me again the next time?”

Sting sniffed. “You’re quite right. Just promise me this won’t be our last night.”

“I promise.”

Sting stared at the mattress.

Well, Rogue was glad that was over. He would get another pound, and that would make six in the bank. He could start moving towards his goals.

“Forgive me. I’m quite distraught with myself…”

“If I accept your apology, would you quit apologising?”

“Probably not, to be honest. It would only encourage another.”

“Then I’ll just tell you straight out: Stop apologising.”

Sting sniffed. “I truly am sorry. I must learn to strengthen my heart.”

“What does your family think of all this? Of your emotional status?”

“I don’t present myself as being particularly emotional. I’m a different man when I’m with you, Rogue. Yes, imagine that. All this time I’ve been completely honest with you. As such, I really do give myself up to you… I do see you as my looming night…”

Rogue just tried to get out of there as soon as possible. “And you are my shadow.”

So then, waiter, custodian, or desk manager? Rogue thought any of these occupations would work well for him. Which one might he be best at? Which one might come most natural to him? He supposed a waiter was right out then, having never been fond of people. Though he was very good with customer service. -As a whore at least. However he doubted his employer would be too happy with him flirting with everyone. Think nothing of beginning to take their clothes off and what have you. Perhaps a desk manager then? There would be a barrier in the way of the customer. It would be much safer. But did Rogue have what it takes to keep track of everything behind a desk? What sort of desk was it? A banker’s? Clerk’s? Hotel’s? The job description varied too much. Suppose there would be enormous amounts of paperwork. Rogue planned on learning how to read more civilised texts anyway, but if the workload were too much he’d find himself overwhelmed. Perhaps a custodian was the way to go. A housekeeper. An on-call floor shiner. A public toilet scrubber. The possibilities were endless, and Rogue wouldn’t be burdened with too having to know too much.

But would that be enough? Was the job of a custodian really so glamorous as to take Frosch and Rogue from the slum? Where was that newspaper? He would just have to go through it again and do the math.

Upon returning to his living quarters, Minerva was at the door to greet him. Rather urgently too.

“Rogue, that man who always comes to see Frosch-“

A man in a dark uniform came up from behind her. “Step aside please.”

In fact, there were multiple men standing behind her, all in constable uniforms. The others sharing the living space were all huddled against a far wall, staying out of it.

Rogue asked, “What’s going on?”

The first man stood before him. “We’re taking you into custody for grossly neglecting a child.”

The other men came up to remove Rogue from the room.

“Where’s Frosch?”

The constables practically dragged Rogue to the police station, where he was fined five pounds for his misconduct. He stayed the night in the department’s custody until his banker could pay the amount in full. Rogue was released without too harsh a punishment as investigators concluded it was no fault of Rogue’s that Frosch’s living conditions were below satisfactory. After speaking with Rogue’s employer they also learned Rogue didn’t earn enough to care for a child in the first place. His bank account was inspected, as the police wondered how he ever acquired so much money working where he did. The bank also expressed their confusion on the matter. Rogue couldn’t tell them the truth; it would cost Laxus his house and income. Instead, he came up with a small lie. Something believable but not too out of the question. Something along the lines of having saved up, and having worked small jobs around the slum off record. It was understood that the man who took Frosch would adopt the exceed, promising a much more suitable life.

Rogue was left to juggle his emotions: Of course he was scared; he’d never met the man, and now he’d taken Frosch. Where did the man live? Probably not too far if he could walk passed this neighbourhood every day. If he lived close did that mean Frosch was still in the slum? How was that life any better? Rogue was beyond sad as well, as he may never see his dear friend again. Frosch was the only one Rogue truly connected with and felt happy around, and the same went vice versa. They’d both just lost the only family they’d ever known. Okay, think logically. The constables knew the man was far better off than Rogue. At least they trusted he could offer a better life than Rogue could. That must mean the man would give Frosch a better life. Rogue should’ve felt relieved. But the exceed needed someone familiar. His dear friend needed him. Frosch didn’t know that man. How would Frosch ever feel safe again? Where was Frosch? How far away? Why didn’t Minerva try harder to keep Frosch safe from the man? Did she even try? She probably handed Frosch over, knowing there would be fewer mouths to feed. Frosch barely ate at all! How was Frosch a bother to anyone? His dear friend was always very considerate to everyone! Frosch didn’t deserve to be taken away!

Rogue stopped going to work after that. Instead he waited outside the building with Minerva as she shined shoes, hoping the man would come back. After some convincing from Minerva, Rogue left the stoop to wander the streets. He wasn’t going back to work like she suggested, Rogue just didn’t want to hang around as long as she was going to pester him about his latest decisions. He would find Frosch. He would bring Frosch home.

Rogue searched up and down the slums, sticking to the richer portions if there were such a thing. The areas closer to central London anyway. He waited around places, hoping the man would take a walk… He marched the streets in hope to run into the man… He knocked on doors to find the man’s house… He kept at it for days, hardly sleeping if he did at all. Eventually someone called the constables on him, and Rogue was ordered to return home lest they through him in the workhouse.

On his way home he broke down in the street. That man didn’t deserve Frosch, even if he could support the two of them in their richer lifestyle. And it was a richer lifestyle… Should he continue looking for Frosch? Should he trust the man with his dear friend just as the police had? He stared at the cobblestone beneath his knees, hunched over with his arms propped on his legs. He was shaking. He didn’t know what to feel. He just sat there in the street. Where was Frosch? What was Frosch feeling? Was Frosch being treated well? Eating well? Sleeping well? Feeling well? Was the man nice? Respectful? Honest? Patient? Protective? Observant? Of course not! He was none of those things because only Rogue knew how to take care of Frosch! He needed to find Frosch!

At night Rogue would sleep on the floor, having missed workdays and so came home empty handed. Even if he had a comfortable place to sleep, he wasn’t sleeping. He was too busy fretting about his dear friend. Struggling with his emotions… Feeling unsure or scared or anxious or trusting… He should trust the man, right? The man would provide for Frosch. At least the exceed would be safe from the slum. But there was more to raising someone than offering them a home: Frosch needed company, a partner, someone to talk to, to share with, to play with… Rogue spun his friendship ring round his finger, trying to send happy messages to his dear friend. Trying to tell Frosch everything would be all right. That he missed Frosch very much, but not to worry about him.

Rogue returned to work one day to start a normal life again. Though, by the end of the day, he hadn’t made very many boxes. His workmates tried to cheer him up and understand what was going on. Rogue kept to himself. He didn’t think they’d understand. Erza urged him not to give up, no matter the situation. The thought was nice but Rogue couldn’t see any hope in it.

Things continued like this. Rogue would go to work, make a few boxes… Come home and sleep on the floor… He ate very little… He slept very little… People started worrying about him: His boss, his workmates, his living quarter group, Minerva… His mail started piling up. All from the bank. It was a surprise to his living quarter community, as they’d been sheltered from Rogue’s bank account up until now. This, of course, started arguments about whether Rogue was holding out on them. Whether Rogue could’ve been keeping them out of debt, or helping them pay for rent at all. Rogue wasn’t in the mood to explain. Instead, he took their threats, their beats, their invasions… They actually began opening his letters for him, finding he had one pound in his account. This made them furious, and they were even more adamant about getting the money out of him. Rogue wouldn’t have it. He just took everything they had to offer.

Eventually, Rogue lost his job. At that point, the living quarter community couldn’t support all of them and so kicked him out, as he had nothing left he was willing to offer. From then on he slept on the spiral stair outside the room. Each day his old living quarter group climbed up and down that stair, on their way to work or just coming home. They looked at him as if he were a stain on the metal steps, or not at all. Minerva couldn’t look at him from the start. It hurt her too much to see where he’d ended up.

With his last pound, Rogue did what every other homeless idiot in the slum did: Waste his savings on alcohol to relieve himself of his pain. However, he’d never drunk before. So each morning he was greeted with nausea and aches and pains… Not like those he felt when thinking of Frosch though… These pains he felt each morning were far more tolerable… Rogue kept getting drunk. Every night. Anything to exchange one pain for another. People on the streets would mock him, or taunt him, or try to insist themselves on him. But Rogue didn’t care. He couldn’t tell, but he still had enough sense to recognise he could no longer think straight.

One night he got to thinking… How so many people thought they were better off than him… How some people simply got to do whatever they wanted… There was no law for these people… No punishment… No sense of morality… Some people could get away with murder, never to be caught. Only their latest scandal glorified in the newspaper… Rogue was just a homeless nobody. He didn’t have family… No friends… Nowhere to go… No money… No future… Rogue was living under those other people. Under everybody, actually: Rogue was the lowest scum in London. There was no social rank for his kind, and he was the only one. Someone like Rogue was subject to all the punishment… All the neglect… All the realities of life… Rogue could never get away with anything.

That’s what they think.

A lonely woman on her way home from some nightly business trotted down the pavement in her smelly dress. Such a humble young thing. What on earth was she doing out so late? Someone could really do some damage to that dress of hers.

Rogue neared the woman, startling her as she took steps away from him. He beckoned her closer with timid sweet talk, a little bit of whore still awake somewhere in his forsaken veins. She let her guard down enough that Rogue bashed her over the head with a bottle, beating her again and again until she stopped moving. He quickly made his getaway, storing the weapon on his person as he headed home for the night.

This became a pattern, as Rogue found a new way of release murdering strays on the street. It was he and the other mystery murderer battling for the headline. Rogue imagined what the other murderer must’ve felt, knowing there was now competition in this sport. He imagined what the murderer would do if he ever spotted Rogue stealing the spotlight. What did the murderer look like? What were the murderer’s tactics? Would they ever meet? Soon enough, Rogue could look at what he’d done in the papers. He was Tricky-Cagey, the man who numbed his victims, offered them a false sense of security. The man who rivalled Jack the Ripper, the two of them obliterating East End. He could be proud of himself for once... He could walk the streets as he pleased... He was feared… He was powerful… And nobody knew it was he who was causing all this terror.

This pattern was fun. Men even claimed to be him for publicity. They wrote threats to the police, to banks, to anyone they wished to steal from or control. Men walked the streets in elaborate costumes to try and fool constables and city folk. Everybody wanted to be Tricky-Cagey. But the fun didn’t last. The attention was fulfilling… so was the adrenaline of a kill… until nothing else became of his reign. The police department was still on the search, but no one really missed any of these murdered people. After all, they were all slum dwellers. Immigrants… Refuging Jews… They were only a thin line away from Rogue’s status as a nobody. At least they all had employers. Tricky-Cagey became white noise to Rogue. The fact that his life became another pattern made his life normal again. From work to the whorehouse to home to work… It was no different from a kill to a headline to the appearance of a new con artist to another search for the true murderer… His life had become another schedule, and Rogue couldn’t stand how he could just wake up and get to work as if sneaking around at night were second nature. It was too easy now. It gave him too much time to think of Frosch. He needed to get out. Out of this pattern. Out of this pattern of falling into more patterns.

Wandering the streets of London again, this time without purpose, Rogue began to consider the workhouse. They would offer him food and shelter. It would give him something to do if nothing else. In any case, he was almost broke again. He didn’t even have enough to keep his bank account open. He carried what remained of his savings in his pocket. It wasn’t enough to buy alcohol. It wasn’t enough to buy bread. He should really start living in the workhouse. But he hated the thought. Those places were worse than prison. What made him think he would be better off there? But he couldn’t wander the streets until he starved to death. Someone would find him before then anyway, but really, this was no way to live.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he couldn’t sign up for the workhouse. He couldn’t get himself to stop wandering. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The moon spun over him, running from the sun, which ran from the moon, which ran from the sun… Before he knew it, he’d passed out on the cobblestone.

He awoke to a familiar face. Two familiar faces.

Sting and Lucy stared down at him, looking as if they were watching him disintegrate before their eyes. They had him taken to the nearest hospital where they nursed him back to a clear-thinking head. Sting covered the expenses and relocated their group to his hotel in central London. Lucy had her own room, Rogue came to find out, as she and Sting had started living together after Rogue disappeared. Go figure. The man was too needy for his own good. Apparently, Rogue fainted near a park where the two of them took daily walks. It was lucky, otherwise Rogue would’ve been found by someone much less tolerant of strays. After taking his very first bath in the lavatory, hot water and soap and all, the three of them got together to talk about Rogue’s wellbeing. Rogue kept to himself about everything preceding his and Sting’s most recent visit. The others insisted and begged but Rogue said nothing. Sting invited Rogue to sleep with him, but the stray declined. Lucy then invited him to sleep with her. After some brainstorming, the two decided they’d sleep together and give Rogue his own bed. It was a miracle those two were still breathing, they were so dumb.

Rogue put on a bed robe as Sting instructed. Apparently, it was unsightly to put on the same outfit after bathing. Lucy even had her own clothes that she’d been sleeping in. Sting promised to buy Rogue a few outfits as well, if he liked. Everything was very overwhelming at the moment. Rogue slept in the main room where Sting usually slept, unable to close his eyes, still too much on his mind. Anyway, the bed was too soft. He wasn’t used to the feeling. It was like the mattress was trying to drown him. He stared ahead at the cabinet across the room.

Where was Frosch?

Oh, God, where was Frosch?

He covered his friendship ring with his other hand, holding both hands to his chest. He told his dear friend, via old bed string, not to worry. That he was safe. That Frosch was safe. They would meet again one day.

Tears fell from Rogue’s eyes at the thought. It wasn’t true. They would life their own lives from here on out. There was no way Frosch would find his way back to Rogue. Not now. Now that Rogue couldn’t afford to stay in their old house. He needed to get back to the building. He needed to continue sleeping on the stair. He would wait until Frosch found the way back home.

Rogue sat up and went to retrieve his clothes. The lavatory was between the two rooms. So upon leaving, clad in his slum attire, Lucy stopped him from her perch on the guest bed.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Rogue turned round to find Lucy seated beside the aristocrat. She stroked the man’s hair as he slept.

“You’re not leaving, are you? This isn’t Laxus’s house, you know.”

Rogue slowly turned away from her, keeping his eyes on the floor.

She got up from the bed and walked closer to Rogue. She didn’t stop until she was right behind him. “Are you going back?”

He couldn’t think of what to say.

“Sting’s happy you’re here. He cherishes you. It frightened him to find you the way you were.”

Rogue murmured, “I’m no like you.”

She shifted her wait, uneasy by his remark.

“I don’t fall in love with people I’ve just met. I’ve got more common sense than that.”

“I didn’t just meet him. Sting is my friend.”

“Do you know anything about him? Where he comes from? Who he is?”

Lucy remained quiet.

“You think you’re in love, Lucy? You don’t know him. You and Sting are nothing alike. You’ll never understand each other. There’s a cultural barrier.”

“Well, how much do you know about Sting?”

He said nothing.

“Do you know he’s caring? Sensitive? Passionate? He wouldn’t use us and throw us out. He’s different from other clients.”

Rogue began to say something but Lucy cut him off:

“In fact, he’s not a client at all. He’s a person, like you and I. One doesn’t pay another to do what Sting does naturally. One doesn’t pay another to offer their bed. One doesn’t pay another to take them off the street. Or go on walks everyday. Or tell you how special you are. Or recite poetry to you.”

Rogue glanced up at the door. He could just walk out if he wanted.

“He won’t disappear the next day. Sting is a real, tangible, breathing person.”

Rogue stepped towards the door.

“And he’s here for you.”

Well, Rogue didn’t care. He wasn’t going to be fooled into loving someone he didn’t know. He had things to do. He wasn’t looking for someone to love him. He wasn’t desperate. He didn’t care bout Sting, or Lucy. He had to go back home. He had to wait for Frosch. He had to get Frosch back.

Every step was heavier as he explored these feelings, these deep concepts he didn’t like to dwell upon too much. They hurt. They were covered in sorrow, dripping with frustration. The more he thought about what he’d lost, and only in a matter of days, the angrier he became. He’d spent all his money freeing himself from prison, paying for a crime he never committed. He’d lost Frosch to some richer man who Rogue had initially believed to be a lowly jerk. Was the man actually a jerk? Could rich people afford to be jerks? He supposed so. Did that mean Frosch was living with a big stupid jerk? How was that any more satisfactory than living in the slum? Answer Rogue that, Police Inspectors! He needed Frosch back! Stupid Lucy, staying up late to pet her new boyfriend. Why did she care if Rogue was leaving? He thought she’d want Sting all to herself. This was all Sting’s fault! If he hadn’t have given Rogue so much money, Rogue never would’ve kept returning to Laxus’s house! And Frosch would’ve spent those shoe-shining hours inside with him, away from lowly rich jerks. This was all Sting’s fault!

Rogue stopped before the door, suddenly at a loss of what to. Like he’d forgotten where he was, lost in his head, in the mirror of a nightmare… Tears fell from his eyes, running down his face and off his neck. After a few moments of silence, Rogue grunted through all his pent up stress, turning his head down to weep loudly at his feet. He couldn’t keep it in. He couldn’t stay quiet. His emotions came flooding out and there was no stopping them. Lucy hurried to his aide, taking his arm and turning him to face her. After a slight moment of standing there, Lucy gained enough confidence to hug him.

“I know we’re not the best of friends, but I understand what you’re feeling. Please share your story with me.”

Rogue tried a rebuttal but he couldn’t get himself to speak. He wanted very much just to scream _This isn’t about being a whore and having found true love!_ Or even _Would you stay out of my goddamn business?_ It was hopeless. The two of them would just have to continue holding each other until Rogue stopped crying.

“T-to be honest… I’m not born from the slum.”

Rogue kept weeping, now on Lucy’s low shoulder.

“I was an aristocrat like Sting. I fell into debt after my father passed away. I worked very hard among my social circle to try and bring some money back into my estate, but it was no use. Without a suitor, I was never able to repay my debt. I moved to the east end of London after that.”

Her story passed the time at least. Rogue could take a deep breath again. He felt silly bothering Lucy with his tantrum. Now he was caught in her embrace, listening to another aristocrat tale.

“It was quite difficult learning to behave and speak like other slum dwellers. But I believe everything turned out.”

Rogue sniffed, staring at the door. Not in longing, rather because it was right in front of him.

“Would you tell me your story?”

The next morning all three of them gathered in Lucy’s room for a talk. They finally got Rogue’s story out of him, everything up until he started losing his sense of morality, and because it was so unbelievably heart breaking, the other two began scheming their next move. Rogue was still on about leaving to go back home, but Sting talked him out of it.

“It would be impossible for Frosch to simply walk out of that man’s house. If he’s rich enough to meet satisfactory expectations, Frosch would be under a nursemaid’s constant supervision.”

Lucy added, “But if the man has a house close to the slums it’s likely he can’t afford a nursemaid. Frosch would still be under the care of someone working from home, however.”

Rogue sat with his legs crossed on the bed, watching the others talk. Sting and Lucy were sitting that way as well, the three of them forming a circle.

“The matter would have yet to be resolved if you returned home.” Sting looked at him. “If you so choose, I can accompany you to the police department and request to see the man who took Frosch. I can adopt your friend from the man. They’ll allow me to take Frosch, my estate is well over satisfactory.”

Lucy gasped as she gave Sting her grandest smile, putting a hand on his thigh after hearing the fantastic news.

Sting went on, “You and Frosch can live with me.”

Rogue stared back at the man. What was Sting doing? Why was he offering so much? Was he really so stupid as to take Rogue and Frosch off the streets? Sting hardly knew them. What made this man so desperate? Rogue began thinking the situation through. He and Frosch would never go hungry again... They could sleep on a bed without the fear of losing it to a sleeping quarter member who made more money that day… They wouldn’t have to work all day for cheap… They could be together on an estate, where Frosch could run and sing and jump and play and anything! Frosch could be happy, free, away from danger!

“Lucy, can you just imagine how much fun we’ll have? You and Rogue living with me on my estate!”

Just like that, Rogue’s vision of happiness plummeted from existence. Lucy already agreed? He asked Lucy already? Rogue was going to have to put up with living with Lucy? Well, depending on how big Sting’s estate was, Rogue could always sleep in a separate room. Heck, depending on how big Sting’s estate was, Rogue could sleep in a separate house on a separate hill. He would never have to see either of them again if he didn’t want to.

“Rogue, my dear.” Sting reached over and took the man’s hands. “Would you like to come live with Lucy and me?”

She and Sting both smiled at him with pure desire in their eyes. Rogue waited for them to stop, hoping they’d give up or grow tired, but they never did. It was like they were frozen in place. It was uncomfortable. It was quite uncomfortable. Should he reel the situation in and say something sex-related again? Something familiar. Something to fall back on.

“I…” he said, “I can’t answer right now.”

“Oh, of course.” Sting removed his hands. “Take as much time as you need. In any case, shall we find Frosch?”

Rogue couldn’t believe anything to be so easy. Something would definitely go wrong… Someone would definitely going to pay… His entire life had been hardship after hardship. There was just no way this would happen for him. Not so easily.

At the police department, Rogue stood behind the other two as they spoke with the men behind the counter. He didn’t belong there. His kind couldn’t afford to complain. They were meant to fend for themselves, of course. Sting and Lucy demanded to see the man who took Frosch however, much more comfortable in the likes of authority. The policemen searched their files, locating the proper directory for all the banks located around where the man might live. The police didn’t know the man, only that he had an account with a specific bank. They were trying to send Sting to the man’s banker, hoping to find the man’s name that way. And in turn, find the man’s house to rescue Frosch.

After some additional conversing, Sting led his group to a taxi outside. They all got in the buggy and road it through the central London streets to the east end. Assuming this man lived near the slum, there was only one bank located in that area. So, this wouldn’t be too much of a goose chase. Sting then, took his group inside the building and went straight to the counter. Lucy followed close behind, but Rogue was sort of dragged along. He didn’t want to face another banker. Even if it was a different bank. He didn’t belong there. He just didn’t. There were things certain people couldn’t do, but the other two would never understand.

Sting asked whether there was an account owned by a man with a newly adopted child. Lucky enough, one of the bankers answered his call and beckoned them over. Sting took his group to this banker and they conversed. The man’s name was Mr Smyth, and he lived just outside the slum. Sting asked for the man address, and the banker thought the aristocrat blueblood enough to trust him. He wrote the address down and offered the note to Sting, who took it and led his group back in the taxi. Rogue couldn’t believe how easy this all was. Their luck would drain out soon enough though. He could feel it. They took the buggy back into central London, keeping round the outskirts in search of Mr Smyth’s building. Lucy spotted the man’s apartment number and they all hurried out to his front door.

Rogue was anxious to finally see the jerk who tormented Frosch, the man who was gutsy enough to show up at Rogue’s living quarters everyday and poke fun at beggars. What did this man look like? Was he everything he led Rogue to believe? After everything he forced Rogue to go through, the man better at least be rich…

Sting knocked on the door and they waited for someone to answer. This better be the right house. What if they had to start their search all over again? What if there were multiple men with newly adopted children with the same bank?

A young woman greeted them at the door. “Yes, sir?”

“I request to speak with the master of this household.”

The woman closed the door again and scuttled off.

Lucy turned to Rogue with a look of determination. For once he didn’t feel annoyed with her. Actually, given the circumstances, it was comforting.

After time, the woman came back with an older man. This man looked Sting up and down before asking:

“Yes, sir?”

“I presume you are the master of the household?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sting went on, “I’ve come to hear of your latest adoption. May I see the child?”

“Whatever for, sir?”

“It has been brought to my attention that your child may be of great interest to me. Are you not Mr Smyth?”

“I am, sir.”

“Bring me your child. I wish to remove it from your possession if I find anything off with it or your relation with it.”

The man looked Sting up and down once more before calling someone to the door. Another young woman walked over to the sound of her name. This woman was carrying Frosch close to her chest.

Rogue shouted, “Frosch!”

Sting held an arm out to stop his friend from doing anything stupid. “Mr Smyth, I believe you’ve taken custody of this child from my friend Rogue under gross neglect. Am I correct in believing this?”

“That’s true, sir.”

“I now wish to take custody of this child from you under neglect.”

“That’s preposterous.” Said Mr Smyth, “I’ve not neglected my child. You can see for yourself, it sleeps peacefully in the arms of my daughter.”

Rogue spoke up, “Frosch isn’t sleeping!”

Mr Smyth looked at the dark haired stray in shock. As if he couldn’t believe a slum dweller would speak up to him like that.

“Rogue,” warned the aristocrat.

“Frosch isn’t sleeping! Frosch is paralysed!”

Lucy tried to calm him down, holding his arm and saying his name.

Sting looked to Mr Smyth. “Is it true? Is the child paralysed?”

“Heavens, no!” He ordered the young woman to show the group outside the door.

She was reluctant at first, but she obeyed the man. She must’ve been his daughter or something. As she came closer Rogue could see his dear friend was slumped over against her, head buried in the woman’s blouse. The exceed was lifeless and floppy like a bag of potatoes. Something was wrong. That was not the Frosch Rogue knew.

“Frosch!” He tried to grab for his dear friend but the woman pulled away. Her father stepped between them, as well. And if that weren’t enough, Sting put a hand on Rogue’s chest while Lucy had Rogue’s arm. The amount of effort that went in to stopping the two from reuniting was insulting. As if Rogue was a beast after fresh blood. He supposed he should just leave this to the professionals. He cowered to the back where he couldn’t see Mr Smyth or his daughter.

Sting remained collected. “As you can plainly see, you’ve distressed my friend. He who raised Frosch would know the child’s condition best. You understand, don’t you?”

Mr Smyth argued, “Certainly not! That scum abused my child. It was all I could do to remove the poor thing from that beast.”

Rogue took additional steps back, trying not to get too riled up. He trusted the aristocrat would get Frosch out of this man’s possession. Anyway, getting angry wouldn’t solve anything. He was already a barbarian in the eyes of Mr Smyth and daughter. Rogue didn’t need to make it worse.

“I too recognise the child’s behaviour is unnatural.” Sting tilted his head as if to question the man’s suspicion of him. “What ever are you up to in this house?”

“Sir, if you please, believe me when I say we have been nothing if not loving to our child.”

“Very well, our ideas of love are quite different, aren’t they?”

His daughter turned her body so as to hide Frosch from sight. “Please. Please, don’t take our child.”

Sting went on, “It is my moral obligation to expel Frosch from this house. The actions taken to result with Frosch’s condition were of the inexperienced sort. To leave the child in your care would be criminal of me.”

“No,” the daughter cried under her breath as she moved farther inside her house.

Rogue just wanted this to be over already.

“I do hope you learn to forgive me, but the child must come away from you at once.”

Mr Smyth gestured for his daughter to come back to the door. She was slow, but eventually she brought Frosch into the light again, and Sting was able to reach out and take the Exceed from her trembling clutches. It was awfully slow. Rogue could’ve made one hundred matchboxes in that time. But Frosch was out of the man’s apartment. That was all that mattered.

“I trust you,” Mr Smyth said, “to keep this poor child away from that filth.” He turned a foul glare on Rogue.

“You’re absolutely entitled to do so.” The aristocrat turned form the apartment and led his group down to the street once again, where he passed Frosch off to Rogue.

“Frosch,” the prostitute held his dear friend in his arms, stressing the exceed’s name in a low moan, overcome by gratitude. “Sting,” he leaned into the aristocrat, wrapping an arm round him, Frosch nestled between their bodies.

Sting spent the next few days legally adopting Frosch and changing Rogue and Lucy’s address. In the meantime, the prostitutes lazed about Sting’s apartment. They dressed themselves in their new clothes that Sting had bought them. Rogue still having to ask Lucy which layers went on first. He couldn’t believe how many details went into aristocrat attire. It reminded him of the first time he undressed Sting. Frosch had some new clothes too, of course. Sting was quite fond of Frosch compared to everyone in the slums. Rogue never knew anyone to love an exceed so much. Sting seemed to love Frosch just as much as Rogue. He treated Frosch as part of the family rather than a waste of space. It felt unnatural, but refreshing.

Lucy smiled at herself in the mirror, toying with the trimming on her chest. She must’ve been thinking back on her aristocrat days. Remembering how she looked, how lucky she was, how proper she could be…

Being an aristocrat must’ve been quite an honour. Rogue should be much more grateful. He’d never been so lucky. If it weren’t for Sting, Rogue and Frosch would’ve died in the city. Frosch would be living with that evil man. Rogue would end up in the workhouse or in prison. It was a miracle that they’d met Sting. Rogue should definitely be more grateful. He would be sure to thank Sting properly. Not that he could ever return the favour. Rogue would just heave to repay the aristocrat any way he could, with devotion and respect and all that emotional stuff.

“Fro loves Rogue.”

He stopped pretending like he could fasten his bowtie and looked down at his dear friend, who stood up on the bed. “I love you Frosch.”

The exceed came closer in a miniature evening suit and walked into Rogue’s open arms. As they hugged, Sting entered the apartment from behind.

“Are we ready?”

Lucy left her beloved mirror for the door, walking through Rogue’s room. “I believe so!”

Frosch pawed Rogue to be lifted off the bed, and Rogue placed his dear friend on a shoulder.

Sting looked everybody over, making sure they were dressed properly, and spotted Rogue’s bowtie. He reached out and fastened it, then tugged on each end to straighten it on Rogue’s collar. “There we are. Let us be off!”

The four of them sat round a table at the back of a dark restaurant. They always dined out, for every meal of every day. It was quite strange. This couldn’t be happening. Rogue would wake up one day and be back in the slums. This was all a fantasy. It wasn’t happening. It wasn’t.

Sting went on about his house and what each of them would like about it. “Lucy, I have the most beautiful garden.”

“Ohh,” she said as she leaned into the table.

They sat round the table like they did on the hotel bed.

Sting continued, “At night we could walk out into the hills and watch the stars. They’re so bright out in the countryside.”

He could’ve said anything and Lucy would manage to smile bigger. They were gross together. Why couldn’t they get married and leave Rogue out of it? All he needed was an education and a job to live his own life.

“Lucy, which constellation is your favourite?”

“Oh, I can’t decide on something like that. They’re all special to me.”

Sting rested his chin in his hand. “That’s just the way I feel about the both of you.”

Rogue took his glove off to get the rest of the sauce off his plate. He found he really liked pasta. It always filled him right up, and the sauce was so creamy.

“You know,” continued Sting, “You remind me so much of my dear wife, Yukino. She loves to take a stroll through the park.”

Rogue flicked his eyes at Lucy to watch her smile slowly deflate.

“She could never choose a constellation either. But, really, she loves just to be outside, among the trees and insects and breeze...”

Lucy’s lip went flat as she turned to stare down at her untouched food. Her hands folded in her lap as she leaned away from the table, positioning herself back to a straight posture.


End file.
